Sam, Sammy, Samantha
by MidgeVS5
Summary: Only a Winchester can find trouble in a cup of coffee. AU. Warning: This story is M rated both for strong language and for content of an extremely mature nature. No wincest or slash.
1. Chapter 1

**SAM, SAMMY, SAMANTHA.**

**Warning: Rated M. **

This story is rated both for strong language and for content of an extremely mature nature. Please consider yourself warned and please do not read if you are of a sensitive nature.

Disclaimer: Supernatural and the Winchesters belong to Eric Kripke.

**CHAPTER ONE – STRUNG UP.**

Consciousness returns to Dean's brain as a flood of nasty sensations. Confusion rapidly turns to horror as he all too readily recognises the feelings of being restrained. He opens his eyes but nothing changes, everything remains black.

He tugs on the restraints that hold his arms taut above his head. The lack of give tells him two things. One, that there will be no easy escape. Two, that something soft has been wrapped tightly around his wrists to stop the cuffs digging in. _Huh! Weird! What sort of monster does that?_

A rattle from high up startles him. His eyebrows shoot skywards as a blast of cold air hits his bare skin and makes him shiver. "Oh crap! I'm naked!"

An unpleasant picture paints itself in his brain. He's strung up, hanging by cuffed wrists like a side of beef in a slaughter house, blindfolded and naked. He feels incredibly vulnerable. But, he reminds himself, he still has his voice. He opens his mouth and yells, "Hey, asshole!"

No-one replies.

He sniffs, picks up a familiar scent. It reminds him of home. _Home? _The blindfold hides his frown for the time it takes him to pin down the familiar scent. It's rubber and oil. _Of course it's familiar, it smells like cars._

He listens hard for the smallest sound "Hey! Anyone there!" But silence remains his only companion. He sighs. "OK, Dean, time to find out where you are."

He rubs his his head against his arms trying to free his eyes . _Hmm! Soft and silky. _Definitely not a monster's usual choice of blindfold. He rubs again and it slides sensually against his skin. The lack of friction makes the job harder, but he keeps going. After what feels like ages, he manages to scrunch up the fabric enough to see a blurry picture. Doing his best to blink his limited vision clear, Dean peers around.

There's a shaft of light illuminating something square – boxes of some kind. Packing cases maybe, stacked neatly, forming a rough wall in front of him. He turns his head and sees piles of tyres stacked, forming another rough wall. _Is he in a warehouse? Or a garage? _

Suddenly there's a noise behind him. He starts and his muscles tense. He twists around as far as he can and shouts, "Hey, asshole! Time you showed yourself."

"Hey," a soft, vaguely familiar, female voice calls back.

"I don't know who the fuck you are," he snarls as he tugs on his restraints. "But you better fucking get me down from here!"

"Sorry. Can't help you there."

Dean realises the voice sounds frightened.

"Shit. They got you too." Squashing his frustration and softening his voice so as not to frighten the girl further, he asks, "What's your name?"

"C...Sandra." She stutters but sounds calmer. "What's yours?"

"Sandra, I'm Dean."

Another female figure dressed in jeans and t-shirt appears silently from a doorway behind him. She walks to a table that's pushed against one wall of Dean's prison and picks up a filled syringe. She pads silently across to Dean. Before he is even aware she's there, she jabs the needle into his buttock. Dean flinches away at the sudden pain, his feet scrabbling on the floor. She injects the syringe's contents, every last drop.

"What the fuck?" he yelps. "Sandra?" A feeling of heaviness rapidly courses along his limbs. "What 'he hell d'you just do t'me?" His words become slurred as his brain ceases all thought. His body swings limply, his bare toes dragging on the concrete floor. His chin drops forward to rest on his chest as unconsciousness claims him again.

The woman reaches up and re-secures the blindfold across his eyes before turning to stare at a dark corner. "What the hell are you playing at, Cassandra?"

A second woman appears from behind the packing cases. "I – um – er -" She fidgets nervously, her gaze on the floor.

"Dammit! What're you doing here? You're supposed to be disposing of his car."

The second, younger woman steps towards her. "I went, but it wasn't there!" Words tumble from her lips. "It isn't where I left it." She waves her arms frantically, gaze riveted on the other woman's face. "It's gone!"


	2. Chapter 2

**SAM, SAMMY, SAMANTHA.**

_**Warning: **__This story is rated M both for strong language and for content of an extremely mature nature. Please consider yourself warned and don't read if you are of a sensitive nature._

_I'm a naughty girl – in the excitement or maybe it was panic of posting the first chapter, I completely forgot to give major credit and thanks to my betas, Mars and Merisha. Without the two of you, this story would never, ever have got written. Your support and unflagging encouragment kept me going and made this story so much better than I could ever imagine I could achive. Thank you from the bottom of my heart._

Now back to the story, how did Dean get himself all tied up? And where did I leave the Impala?

**CHAPTER TWO – NEVER TALK TO STRANGERS**

**48 hours earlier.**

At Pastor Jim's old farm in Kentucky, Dean is leaning, arms crossed, inside the doorway of the library, or Hunter's Tomb as it's more fondly known among the inner circles of the Brotherhood. He is silhouetted by the late afternoon sun shining through the window behind him. Sam is sitting in a comfy chair illuminated by the reading lamp on the table beside him, his swollen and heavily bandaged right ankle resting on a cushioned stool.

"Sammy! Stop being a mother hen. I'll only be away for a few days. A – few – days - "

"But …"

"No buts." Dean points to his brother's bad ankle. "You need to rest and do scholarly things with Mac." Dean grins at Sam's agitated look. ''I'll be fine. After all, Mac would never have asked me to go alone if he didn't think it was perfectly safe."

"I can come." Sam insists "I'll go ask Mac for some crutches." He grips the arms of the chair, puts his foot to the floor and levers himself upright. But his ankle has other ideas. A sharp stab of pain makes him gasp and his leg gives way beneath him. Dean is instantly by his side steadying him and easing him back into the chair.

"Dude! You are so not better," he sighs as Sam reluctantly sits back. "You need to rest up a few more days at least; Scholar's orders." He smiles as his brother's expressive face reflects his distress.

"Please wait," Sam pleads, as his brother gently lifts his foot back onto the stool. "Until either Caleb or I can come with you."

Dean sighs and rolls his eyes at his stubborn brother. "Sam, I'm going to speak with Ethan and Elijah as the next guardian of the Brotherhood, nothing else."

"Please, Dean." Sam unashamedly begs, tears shining in his eyes. "You'll get shanghai'd by a girl or..."

"Sammy – Stop! I promise. No hunting - of any kind - without you as backup."

"But bad things happen when we split up." Sam hovers on the edge of panic at the idea of Dean taking this trip alone, but has no logical reason for his misgivings.

"Enough!" Dean interrupts. "I'm a big boy. I'll be back before you're walking unaided. Now say goodbye and don't cry like a girl, Samantha."

Sam scowls at the hated nickname "At least wait until daybreak."

"You know I prefer to drive at night when the roads are quiet."

Sam opens his mouth to protest further but the scowl on Dean's face has him clamping it shut and Dean turns to leave. He pauses momentarily as he hears Sam's quiet, "Bye, Dean. Drive carefully."

He turns back and gives his brother his trademark grin. "Always dude, always."

xXx

Cassie stares unseeing at the magazine on the counter in front of her. The morning commutor rush is over, the coffee shop empty and she is bored, bored, bored. Behind her, her young assistant, Jake, is moving and re-stacking the crockery as he cleans, but the constant clinking is driving her crazy.

She hears the rumble of a powerful car approaching and looks up. Pulling up outside the coffee shop's large glass window is a shiny black classic car. The door opens and she focuses on the driver getting out. He is tall with short dark blonde hair and dressed in jeans, t-shirt and worn jacket.

He stretches and it's like watching a panther stretch, all lean, toned muscles ready for action. He closes the door, pulls a cell phone from his pocket and flips it open. Cassie's eyes move up to his face. He has full lips and a six o'clock shadow that darkens his jaw. His smile when he laughs is as sexy as his body. _Oh, boy!_ He is one handsome man and the wheels in her brain begin to whirl.

She straightens up, flicks her long auburn hair back over her shoulders and slips open the top two buttons of her shirt, pulling the fabric tight over her breasts.

Behind her there's the crash of breaking pots. She turns and sees Jake hastily bending down to pick up the remains, his face flaming red. She shoots him a hard look. "How many of those you dropped today?"

She returns her focus to the man outside just as he finishes his call and enters the coffee shop. He pauses just inside the door, his eyes taking in every inch of the place. Finally his gaze settles on Cassie's breasts. She leans forward, resting her elbows on the counter. He raises his eyes to meet hers, grins and her breathing speeds up in anticipation of the game to come.

From behind her, she hears her employee step forward. "Good morning, sir. Welcome to Cassie's Coffee Shop. What can I get you?"

"Black coffee to go, please."

Jake turns to the coffee machine behind him.

Cassie watches her target's every move, taking in the twitching of his mouth and his gorgeous green eyes surrounded by long lashes. Her gaze roams over his body as her brain works overtime, assessing and valuing every inch of this man. "Like what you see?"

His eyebrows rise in question and a small smile tugs at his mouth as his fingers indicate his body.

She leans further over the counter dropping her eyes to below his jean's belt before slowing raising them to look him in the face. Her lips curl into an appreciative smile. "You'll do."

The man laughs, a deep and sexy sound. "Never doubted it."

To her side, Jake splutters and coughs as he steps forward, a full coffee cup held in trembling hands. Unseen by either man Cassie sticks her foot out and trips her assistant. Jake lurches forward, the cup hits the counter and the coffee showers everywhere.

"Oh shit!"

"Damn!"

"Sonofa...!"

Everyone jumps back and stare at the puddle pouring off the counter in a waterfall that splatters onto the floor.

Cassie leaps into action. "I'm sorry, sir." She jumps around the end of the counter, secretly delighted at the disaster. "Are you OK? Are you hurt? Jake, pass me that cloth."

She holds out a hand and grabs the cloth thrust at her by her assistant who stammers, "I'm – I'm sorry – "

"It's OK," the man says as he brushes at his jeans. "I'm fine."

Still Cassie bends down and dabs at the damp patches with the towel. "No, you're wet. Let me dry..."

"No, no, stop!" He wraps his hands around her wrists as her cloth pats below his belt. He pulls her to her feet. "That - is just fine. Thanks."

She stares at him, her calculating mind assessing the strength of his grip, the firm planes of his body. _Oh god. He's perfect. _She turns her head and glares at her assistant, who is mopping ineffectively at the puddle on the counter oblivious to the continued dripping of coffee to the floor. His attention is fixed firmly on the interaction between his boss and customer.

"Jake," she snaps. "Get the mop and clean the floor." Jake jumps, mortified to be caught staring. His face reddens even more and he scurries away through a door marked 'Private' in search of the mop.

She returns her gaze to her customer. He has released her wrists but has made no move to increase the distance between them. In fact, his gaze is again resting on her breasts. His fingers drift up to lift her auburn curls back over her shoulders and linger longer than strictly necessary on her neck.

"Are you sure your - package - doesn't need more drying?" she asks, almost feeling his mental shrug as his manner suddenly changes from one of sexual sparring to a pensive, troubled look. He shakes his head and backs away, dropping his hands to his sides.

She stares at him for a moment, perplexed, but she quickly recovers. "Let me replace your coffee – on the house, of course - and get you something to eat. A doughnut perhaps or today's breakfast special?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah, doughnut, thanks."

He remains silent though his eyes track her movements as she prepares his coffee and puts a doughnut in a bag. "Black, right?"

"Yeah, thanks."

"Where you heading?"

"Houston." He remains subdued, the sexual banter of earlier is completely gone.

"Your car is lovely."

His eyes snap into focus, boring into her face. "Lovely! Lovely? She's gorgeous." He sounds fiercely proud.

"Gorgeous, yeah, sure. Classic?"

"Yeah, a '67 Chevy Impala. My dad gave her to me"

"My dad was into cars but the details never really caught my interest. Sorry."

"You sound like my brother." He leans forward. "I'm sure I could teach you to appreciate the finer details."

Jake picks that moment to come back into the shop, mop and bucket in hand. The man stands back from the counter, the silent pensive mask back in place, his eyes no longer watching her but following Jake's movements as he cleans the floor. He picks up his coffee and doughnut and smiles. "Thanks."

The door swings shut behind him and Cassie's eyes follow him back to his car, her appreciative smile turning predatory. He is settled behind the wheel of his car and taking a drink of his coffee as she pulls a cell phone from her pocket and dials.

"Hey, sis. Got a beaut for you. Give him 30 minutes and he'll be sleeping like a baby." She listens. "On route to Houston." She snaps the phone closed and returns to her magazine, a smile that won't be removed any time soon lighting her face.

xXx

Dean smiles. He can hardly believe he has turned down the opportunity to spend time with a beautiful woman. Sam's worried words '_you'll get shanghai'd by a girl' _and_ 'bad things happen when we split up' _keep reverberating in his head, so today he'll prove his brother wrong and be good. He needs to get to Houston quickly, meet up with Ethan and Elijah, get the talking done and get back to the farm and Sam without any distractions.

Settling behind the wheel of the Impala, he takes a long drink of his coffee feeling ridiculously pleased with himself. He places the cup on the dashboard, pulls the doughnut from its bag and takes a big bite.

The sun is warm on his face as he finishes it and licks sugar from his fingers. _Time to annoy Sammy. _He digs his cell phone from his pocket and punches in Sam's number, swallowing coffee as he waits for the call to connect.

The call is answered almost before it starts to ring. "_Dean?"_

Dean smiles, picturing his anxious little brother back at the farm. "No, Sammy, it's the big bad witch." He can practically see Sam rolling his eyes in exasperation. "What you doing?"

"_It's early. What do you think! And it's Sam!"_

"Mac and Esme still pampering you like a princess?"

"_Esme is worse than you for hovering."_

Dean can hear the grumble in Sam's voice, and feels momentarily guilty for leaving his brother in someone else's care. "And I bet you're lying back, lapping it up."

"_Grow up, Dean."_

"Why, when I have such fun annoying my baby brother?"

"_You're a jerk, you know that?"_

"Don't get your panties in a twist, Princess Samantha."

"_Whatever. Where you up to?"_

"Louisiana. Some place called Sulphur. You believe that?"

"_Hope that's not an omen." _The anxiety is back in Sam's voice.

"Course not. I'm being good." He grins when his brother huffs disbelievingly. "Dude, I just stopped for coffee, and there was this really hot woman – long silky hair, legs up to her armpits, and a rack – "

"_Dean!"_

"Anyway, I didn't touch."

"_Really?"_

"Really, Sammy. I didn't lay one finger – well, maybe one, but certainly not -"

"_Told you'd get shanghai'd!" _But Sam sounds amused despite the accusing words.

Dean smirks, congratulating himself. He's just so good at turning his brother's moods around. "If you don't believe me, ask Mac, I spoke to him not 10 minutes ago." He struggles to stifle the yawn that creeps up on him, hoping Sam doesn't pick up on it.

"_OK, smartass. Have you slept since you left here?" _

Dean thinks, damn, that kid is just too perceptive. Out loud he says, "I'm fine, Sammy. It's another couple of hours to Houston, then I'll sleep."

"_You promise?"_

"Yes. I promise. I'll find a motel and sleep until meeting the E twins for dinner -"

"_The E twins?"_

"Yeah, the E twins. You remember them? Ethan and Elijah. Our friends who are idiotic enough to have aligned themselves with our unconventional Triad and now have half the Brotherhood plotting against them."

"_Yeah, yeah, I know who. I was just thinking Caleb is going to love that nickname for them."_

Dean laughs but it ends in another jaw cracking yawn. "OK, Sammy babe, I gotta love ya and leave ya. Some of us have places to be."

"_You sure you're OK to drive, Dean?"_

"I'm fine, Princess_"_

"_Take care, Jerk."_

"Bitch." Grinning, Dean closes his phone and tosses it on the seat beside him. Cranking the engine over he drains the rest of his coffee and pulls back out onto the Interstate.

As he drives west towards Houston, Dean turns the music up and winds the window down as tiredness washes over him.

"Stupid bitch must have given me decaf," he mutters as another yawn forces its way out. Winding the window down further he keeps driving, but within minutes his eyes close of their own accord. Horns blare all around him and snap him awake. Dean is dangerously close to the wrong side of the road!

He frantically steers right and searches for somewhere to pull over. He soon spots a sign for a rest area and turns his baby down the short hill into the deserted area. His eyes are already threatening to close again. Panic tickles the sleepy edges of his brain. _This is not normal, not right. It's just plain wrong! _

Pulling to a halt, he turns the engine off and grabs his phone. He fumbles it open. His eyesight is blurring and edged with black as he tries to focus on the buttons. His eyes slide shut and his head drops back against the seat. The phone slips from his fingers onto the floor as unconsciousness claims him.

A few minutes later, a battered looking RV pulls up besides the Impala, blocking it from the view of anyone who might drive past. When it leaves a short while later, the Impala is empty.


	3. Chapter 3

**SAM, SAMMY, SAMANTHA.**

_**Warning: **__This story is rated M both for strong language and for content of an extremely mature nature. Please consider yourself warned and please don't read if you are of a sensitive nature._

_Disclaimer: Supernatural and the Winchesters belong to Eric Kripke. _

_Thanks go to my amazing betas Mars and Merisha for their hard work and never ending encouragement._

_I'd also like to thank everyone who takes the time to check out my humble offering in the wonderful world of Supernatural fanfiction._

**CHAPTER THREE – TIME TO BE QUIET**

Caleb Reaves, future Knight of the Brotherhood is looking forward to spending time with the Winchesters as he drives from his apartment in New York to the farm in Kentucky. It's a route he's travelled many times before and he's relaxed, enjoying the freedom of the road.

"Sonofabitch!"

His knuckles turn white as the first sudden stab of pain erupts behind his eyes. _ A vision now! _The pain rapidly builds blurring his vision as he desperately tries to control the car and pull safely to the side of the road. As the car skids to a stop, he drops his head into his hands and surrenders to the inevitable.

His visions usually come in movie format and from the viewpoint of the aggressor. Today's is very different. Today he gets a confusing mix of vivid stills. Stills of a dark blond man holding a take-away cup of coffee.

The same man sitting behind the wheel of a classic car, coffee cup to his lips.

The picture changes again, focusing tightly on the handsome face of the man. His head is now resting back against the seat of the car, eyes closed, mouth slightly open.

The vision suddenly switches format to a movie. Hands unzip a black medical examiner's body bag and reveal the same pale still face, lips tinged blue and eyes closed. A corpse.

Caleb's eyes snap open and he drags in a shuddering breath. "Deuce!" Heart pounding, he fumbles for his cell, speed dialling Dean's number. "Come on Deuce, pick up…" He swallows hard as the voice-mail picks up. _"This is Dean, leave a message."_

"Shit!"

He snaps the phone shut, his stomach churning violently as he vividly recalls his best friend's pale face inside the body bag. He wrenches open the door and heaves his stomach's contents onto the side of the road. Wiping his hand across his mouth, he opens his phone again and calls his father.

Mac picks up on the third ring. _"Caleb, son, good to…." _

"Dad, I had a vision," he blurts out. "Deuce is in trouble."

"_What! I only spoke with him 30 minutes ago, he was fine, stopped for gas, but fine."_

"He's not answering his cell."

"_He could be driving."_

"Dad, where was he when you spoke to him?"

"_A couple of hours outside Houston, Texas."_

"And Sam?"

"_Still at the farm, with me, recuperating. I thought it was a good opportunity for Dean to begin to take up the reins of being guardian by going to speak with Ethan and Elijah…" _

Caleb interrupts the Scholar's rambling. "Dad! He was dead!"

xXx

The battered RV drives through the town of Sulphur heading for the industrial area. A siren wails in the background growing ever closer as the RV driver nervously checks the mirrors and watches the black and white cop car whip past.

Taking a right followed by a left, the RV approaches a group of warehouses. Some are old, some are new, but what catches the attention of the driver is the group of blue and red flashing lights up ahead. The RV stops. Two more cop cars race by, sirens screaming. Whatever is going on, the driver wants nothing to do with it. The RV turns around and heads sedately back the way it came.

xXx

In the coffee shop, Cassie hands change to a customer as her cell phone buzzes under the counter. She picks it up and flips it open. "Yeah?"

"_It's me. I can't get to the warehouse so I'm heading back to the junkyard until tonight."_

"But …"

"_Don't say anything. And don't worry. I'll make sure there aren't any problems."_

"OK," says Cassie doubtfully. She stares out across the parking lot worrying her bottom lip with her teeth. _This is not how things are supposed to happen. _She pushes her concerns to the back of her mind as the door opens and a pack of teenagers stroll in. "Hi," she says brightly. "What can I get you guys?"

xXx

Detective Ethan Matthews is standing by the coffee machine in his squad room when his cell phone begins to ring. Digging it out of his pocket he glances at the caller ID and with a grimace he heads out of the office towards the men's room.

"Hello, Mackland, what can I do for you?" He listens intently, his face growing grimmer by the minute. As Mac recounts Caleb's vision, he fires questions.

"Do you know where Dean was the last time you spoke to him?........... I'll make some enquiries here, then pick up Eli and head out there........... Ask Caleb to call me when his plane lands.......... Am I looking for Sam as well as Dean?"

Ethan breathes a sigh of relief when he hears that Sam is still at the farm and Mackland has every intention of keeping him there, safe.

He ends the call and immediately calls his brother. "Eli. Hi. We got a problem, Mackland called, looks like Dean's in trouble..............I'll pick you up."

Back in his squad room, Ethan sits hunched over his desk, glaring at his computer screen.

"Shit," he mutters as he checks the information showing on the screen against a file that lays open before him. "Shit, shit and double shit."

He glances around at his colleagues and is thankful that no-one is looking his way. He erases the search from his computer screen and carefully gathers up the papers spread across his desk. He picks up his jacket, hides the manila files amongst its folds and heads out the door.

xXx

In Sulphur, Louisiana, it's early afternoon by the time Ethan strides up to the front desk of the police station. Without preamble, he slaps his badge and a photo of Dean onto the counter. "I'm looking for this man."

The startled officer behind the desk looks from one item to the other then up to the imposing man in front of him. "What's he done, Detective?"

"He's missing."

"And what makes you think he's around here?"

"Look, Officer, I don't have time to play twenty questions. This man was on his way to see me with some very important information about a case. Now he's missing and I want your department's help finding him."

"You didn't answer my officer's question."

Ethan looks up as another man steps out from a back office to confront him. The senior officer peers at the badge and picture on the counter. "Again, what makes you think he's around here?"

Resigned to going even further against his job's principles, Ethan sighs, turns on the charm and embellishes his lie. "Gentlemen, I apologise for being abrupt, but it is imperative I find this man quickly. He's involved with the witness protection programme, and Sulphur is the last place he called from and it's where the GPS in his cell phone still puts him."

Mentally he crosses his fingers that he won't be called on that white lie. He knows that both Winchesters use untraceable cell phones. After all he helped advise Mackland on them.

"Witness protection, hey?" the older man muses. "I thought he looked familiar."

Ethan holds his breath hoping he won't have to compromise himself further. His prayers are answered as the older officer asks, "What sort of car is he driving?"

"Black 1967 Chevy Impala – hard to miss. I'd appreciate it if you'd quietly ask your officers to look for it."

"Isn't that a bit of a flashy car to be driving in witness protection?"

"Tell me about it!" Ethan sighs dejectedly.

"OK. We can look for the car, put his photo out there. How about we look at the traffic cams too. We don't have many, but you're welcome to view what we've got."

"Thanks. That would be good." Ethan breathes easier. He gathers his badge and the photo and follows the officers further into the station house.

xXx

In the junkyard close to Cassie's coffee shop, but hidden behind the gas station, the battered RV stands surrounded by wrecked and broken cars. It's covered in dirt and blinds are drawn at every window, for all the world looking like it hasn't moved in years.

Inside the RV it's a different story. It's clean and modern and at the rear of the vehicle, lying on an immaculate bed, is an unmoving dark blond man. A blindfold covers his eyes and brown packing tape is wrapped around him, pinning his arms to his sides and his legs tight together. His mouth is slightly open, drool dribbling out the corner to dampen the pristine sheets, his handsome features relaxed.

A woman with long mahogany hair approaches the bed, and stares down at the occupant. She reaches down and shakes his shoulder. He stirs, shifting his head sleepily and mumbling something unintelligible. Tutting, she turns away from him and opens a nearby cabinet.

She takes out a syringe and vial, she carefully fills it with a precise dose. She checks the fluid is flowing freely, then injects it into the dark blonde man. After a few moments she shakes the trussed up man's shoulder again, but this time there is no response.

Satisfied, she turns away to the door and pulls it open. The RV is momentarily filled with afternoon sunshine then plunged back into darkness as the door is once more closed and locked.

Xxx

Outside the Sulphur police station, Elijah sits in their SUV. He is reading through the files his brother brought from Houston. All are missing person cases from the area covering the last five years. Three of the files also contain autopsy reports of the victims, found weeks later in surrounding states. Those reports don't make for pleasant reading, but so far nothing strikes him as supernatural.

He is engrossed in reading the final file when Ethan opens the car door and drops several more in.

"Hey!" Elijah protests.

"I thought you needed more reading matter."

"Thanks."

Climbing into the driver's seat Ethan adds, "And I've got a lead on where Dean's car may be."

xXx

At the door of the coffee shop, Cassie looks out on the dark, quiet night. She flicks off the main lights, steps outside and locks the door. She looks around carefully as she makes her way to her car. She pauses, her head to one side as she listens. In the distance an engine can be heard coughing to life. She smiles and settles herself behind the wheel of her car, turning the engine on as she waits.

In the junkyard behind the nearby gas station, the battered RV slowly chugs its way through the broken vehicles and accelerates smoothly as it rounds the corner and heads on to the interstate.

As it passes the coffee shop, Cassie's little black car moves off, slotting itself neatly in behind the RV, following it down the road.

Xxx

Half a mile from the coffee shop, in a dark, deserted shopping mall parking lot, an SUV waits silently in front of a black Chevy Impala.

Caleb stops his hired car beside the SUV and turns off the engine. His eyes lock onto his best friend's car illuminated in his headlights as Ethan and Elijah climb out of their vehicle and wait for him to join them.

He finally drags his gaze from the Impala, exits his car and acknowledges the familiar figures of the Matthews brothers with a wave of his hand. Suddenly the nightmare images from his vision return in vivid technicolour and he leans heavily on the door willing his emotions back under control.

"You OK, Caleb?" Ethan asks.

"Caleb, good to see you,' says Elijah, his hand stretched out in greeting.

Both enquires are ignored as Caleb stands upright and shoves past them, intent on reaching the Impala before his shaking legs give way beneath him. He glances to Ethan who stands almost protectively beside his twin.

"What do you know, Ethan?" asks Caleb.

"The Impala has been here since the middle of this morning. The CCTV images are grainy to say the least. I can't be sure who parked it here. It's a very busy lot at that time of day."

"So you're not sure Dean was driving?"

Ethan nods, hating that he is unable to offer reassurance to Caleb. "There were no signs of a struggle around Dean's car, and as far as we can tell, no signs of sulphur to indicate demon involvement."

Whilst listening to Ethan, Caleb tugs experimentally on the trunk lid but it doesn't move. He moves onto the driver's door. It too is locked.

"Oh, and there's no sign of the keys."

Caleb quirks an eyebrow. "Who the hell locks a car if not its owner?"

"Not your everyday criminal, that's for sure!"

Digging in his jacket pocket, Caleb pulls out a bunch of keys. He searches through them and quickly finds what he is looking for. He holds it up. "Good job I have a spare."

Caleb unlocks the car but as he slides into the driver's seat, he's instantly aware something is wrong. _What the hell? _His knees are up round the steering column. No way did Dean drive with the seat in this position.

He pushes it back and looks around the interior. He opens the glove box and rifles through the contents. He turns and checks out the mess on the back seat. Finally he runs his hands around and under the seat. His fingers brush against an object. It is smooth, slim and rectangular. His fingers close around the familiar shape and he picks it up, his heart joining his stomach in his mouth - Dean's cell phone. "Fuck it, Deuce.'

Ethan leans into the car, indicating the phone in Caleb's shaking fingers. "What you got?"

Caleb has the phone open, checking calls and messages. He doesn't answer Ethan. Suddenly he twists around re-examining the interior the car.

"What?" Ethan prompts.

"No coffee cup!"

"What?"

"In my vision, Deuce was drinking coffee."

"So?"

"So no coffee cup."

"He probably threw it away."

Caleb shakes his head. "I don't think so. It feels significant."

"And the phone?"

"He wouldn't leave it willingly."

"Any calls, messages we can use?"

"Nothing that strikes me as particularly odd. Last call he made was to Sam. Two missed calls both from Sam around lunchtime. Nothing else."

Two missed calls from Sam. For a panicked moment he wonders if Sam has already realised his brother is missing and started his own search. A quick telepathic check reassures him Sam is relatively calm, probably asleep judging by the strength of the connection and he backs off, unwilling for Sam to become aware of the link.

"OK, Caleb. What do you want to do now?" Ethan asks as Caleb climbs out of the car.

Elijah touches his own head as he interjects, "Have you picked up any clues psychically?"

"You think I haven't been trying that all day?" Anger tinges Caleb's retort.

"No, I didn't think that." Elijah hesitates trying to find the right words. "I just thought – wondered - if contact with the car or Dean's phone may have triggered something." He shrugs his shoulders, suddenly looking much younger than his years.

Caleb takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, pushing his anger down. "Unfortunately, that's more Dad's thing than mine. All I can tell for sure is that he's still alive."

Ethan takes charge. "OK. I think we need to move the Impala somewhere safer. We can't afford for the locals to get interested in the arsenal in the trunk."

"Shit. The trunk." Caleb moves round to the rear of the car, automatically checking no one is watching. He inserts his key and opens it, moves his friend's duffel and lifts up the false bottom. The full array of the Winchester brothers' weapon collection gleams mockingly in the poor lighting of the parking lot. It doesn't take Caleb more than a glance to see that nothing obvious is missing.

"Well?" asks Ethan.

"As far as I can tell it's all here."

"Good. Now let's get it moved. There's a suitable motel nearby."

xXx

The battered RV turns off the interstate closely followed by Cassie's little black car and heads through the town towards the dark and deserted streets of the industrial district. It approaches an old boarded up warehouse and turns down the potholed track on its far side. The RV lurches as it hits a particularly deep hole and bounces on its springs before continuing to weave its way down the dark alley, the driver working to avoid more potholes and any possible damage to her cargo.

Inside, still sleeping on the bed, the trussed up man bounces with the vehicle. He stirs at the sudden jolt, mumbles something before the rocking lulls him back to sleep.

Up in the driver's seat, the dark haired driver turns and glances back at her cargo. She doesn't want him waking up yet. Satisfied he's still safe on the bed, she turns back to the dark road leading to her destination.

xXx

On the outskirts of Sulphur, in the small hours of the morning, Caleb throws open the motel room door, admitting his father and Bobby, and demands, "Where the hell have you been?"

Mac looks around. Caleb and the twins have set up a base of operations and there are papers and weapons spread across every surface. Elijah sits at a small table by the window working at a laptop, Ethan is at the back of the room making coffee.

Caleb slams the door and glares at his father. "You should have been here hours ago."

Mac raises his eyebrows but answers calmly, "I had some things to take care of before I could leave."

"What's more important than Deuce?"

"Samuel. Maybe not more important, but certainly as important."

Caleb's mouth opens but nothing comes out.

"I didn't think you'd want me to leave him alone and unprotected," Mac continues.

"He knows?"

"No. Only that I have urgent business to take care of."

Caleb breaths a sigh of relief, then his eyes narrow. "He bought that?"

"Actually, I chickened out. He was asleep when I left and Esme offered to tell him."

"He won't stay."

"I think he will." Mac pauses. He drags in a deep breath before continuing. "Esme is very good at soporific teas." He rushes on, " And Joshua isn't far away if she needs help. I asked Missouri to go keep her company too."

"You're keeping him drugged?" Caleb cannot believe he's listening to his father, who is always been so suspicious of Joshua's herbal remedies.

"I think it's best."

For once in his life, Caleb can't think of a single thing to say.

"OK, now that's settled, what news of Dean?"

The Matthews twins share a look before Elijah takes up the story. "The bad news is we aren't any closer to knowing where he is. The good news is there doesn't appear to be any supernatural activity in the area."

Elijah pauses and Ethan continues. "With some official help, we found his car in a Sulphur shopping mall's lot. His cell phone was on the floor. The last calls he made were to you and Sam this morning. I've spent some time working through hours of CCTV to try to track the Impala's movements around Sulphur and for any sign of Dean. So far, nothing. But there are also some worrying cases of missing people in recent years and they have a nasty habit of turning up weeks or months later, dead, all over the country."

He pauses, more worried by those reports than he cares to admit. When no one comments he plunges on. "We brought the Impala back here. We're hoping you can track Dean from either the car or this." He holds out Dean's cell phone to Mac, who stares at it before reaching out to take it.

Mac takes the phone and sits at the table. He breathes in a deep calming breath, closes his eyes and opens his mind in his first attempt at using psychometry to locate Dean.

xXx

In the back corner of an abandoned warehouse, there is an area swept clean of debris. It is surrounded by makeshift walls of packing cases and worn tyres, and in the centre a man lies unconscious. Two young women kneel beside him and balls of used packing tape are discarded to one side.

The mahogany haired woman smiles. "I love this part of the job."

They roll the man from one side to the other pulling his arms free of his jacket and overshirt. His eyes remain closed and he is dead weight in their hands. They pull his t-shirt over his head taking care not to drop his head back onto the floor. A soft moan escapes his lips as his bare flesh touches the cold concrete.

"He's waking up," the younger woman exclaims, panic in her voice.

"We have time. Here." The first woman tosses a couple of bandages to her auburn haired companion. "Wrap his wrists then cuff them tight."

"Why the bandages? He's already scarred."

"Because I don't want complaints about me damaging the goods this time." Without looking up and trusting that her instructions will be obeyed, the first woman pulls off the man's boots. She unbuttons his jeans and opens them. _Nice._

She runs her hand over the tempting bulge then pulls his jeans down and off his legs. Inside one sock she finds a short blade in a small sheath. She shrugs. Lots of guys carry knives. His boxers come off next and she gets a great view of the goods. _Very nice._

The first woman stands and moves to a switch on the wall. 'Ready to string him up?'

"Yeah." The younger woman stands and reaches overhead. She pulls down a heavy hook which is attached to a chain running through a pulley. In turn, this is attached to a powerful electric motor. She loops the chain joining the cuffs over the hook and stands back as the motor whirls into life. It lifts the prone body from the floor until only his feet rest on the ground and his head lolls on his chest.

The motor switches off and in the sudden silence the girls stand and admire their prize.

xXx

In the motel across town, Mac puts Dean's cell phone down on the table in front of him. He looks at his hands, composing his thoughts before looking up into his son's golden eyes.

"Well, Dad?"

"He's alive."

"I already knew that," barks Caleb. "What else?"

Mac glares at him and continues, "Nothing concrete."

"What do you mean 'nothing'? What did you get?"

"I picked up motion, discomfort and sleepiness."

"Anything about where he is?"

"No, nothing."

Where there had been hope, there is now disappointment and Caleb's desperate need to find his friend has him begging. "You have to keep trying."

"I will. But for now I need to rest." He rubs his tired eyes. "We all need to rest."

Caleb opens his mouth to object, but Bobby comes to Mac's rescue. "Junior, your daddy's right. We don't want to be missing clues, 'cos we're all too damned tired to see straight. Won't do Dean any good that way."

"Excuse me," Elijah speaks up from behind his laptop. "Mackland, did you say you picked up motion? Does that mean Dean is on the move?"

All eyes turn to Elijah as the full implications of his question sink in.

"Holy crap! He could be anywhere!"

xXx

In the dark secluded corner of the warehouse, the two women circle their latest acquisition that's now safely secured in the centre of the area.

"As pretty as I thought he'd be," the auburn haired sister comments.

"Damn shame he's so marked."

"Wonder how he got all the scars?"

"Don't know, don't care. Just know they'll reduce his price."

The mahogany haired woman turns away and starts to gather up his clothes. The jacket is surprising heavy. She searches through the pockets and pulls out a gun which glints enticingly as it catches the light. She weighs it in her hand and her gaze shifts to their prize. _Two weapons. Who the hell are you? _she wonders.Quickly she re-hides the gun in amongst his clothes.

Oblivious to her sister's find, the auburn haired woman circles their prize. She trails her fingers across his torso. He twitches in response.

"Why don't you see if you can give him a drink whilst I sort through this lot?" The darker haired woman asks, now holding his wallet in her hand.

"OK." She picks up a bottle of water and approaches the man hanging in front of her. Flicking her red hair over her shoulder she unscrews the top and reaches for his head.

"Try not to choke him."

She huffs and throws her sister a dirty look. "I know what I'm doing." She cups his face gently, and lifts his chin from his chest, her thumb stroking his lips. "Hey, sleepy head, want some water?"

Apart from a barely perceived movement of his head, there is no response. She changes tact, and pats him lightly on the cheek. A little more movement, then stillness.

She looks across at her sister, but she has her back turned. Grinning wickedly, the young woman lifts his chin and kisses his lips. She runs her tongue along them, and is delighted when they part slightly. Quickly she breaks the contact and exchanges her lips for the bottle of water. She tips a little into his mouth. He splutters and pulls away, more awake now.

"Gerroff," he slurs.

"Hush. It's just water." She steadies his chin and tips the bottle again. Water dribbles down his chin, but he does manage to swallow some without choking.

"Good boy," she soothes, offering him more. He drinks greedily.

Mahogany Hair glances up from sorting his possessions to look at her sister. "Not too much," she orders. "We don't want too many bodily functions to deal with."

Quickly, the younger woman pulls the bottle away. "Oh, gross. I hadn't thought of that."

Her sister laughs. "That's my Cassie, always the baby."

Their blind-folded prisoner suddenly lifts his head, "Sammy?" he groans.

Both girls jump and stare at the unexpected use of that name.

Dean tugs futilely at his restraints. "What the fuck! SAM!" His muscles bunch and strain as he fights. "Whoever you are, let me the fuck go!"

He struggles harder, sweat beading on his forehead, his face red with the effort.

"Shut. Up!" Mahogany Hair snaps.

He twists towards her voice. "What? Who are..."

"I. Said. Shut. Up." She flicks the safety off the gun in her hand. As it clicks, she sees him freeze. She chambers a round and stalks closer to him. "Or I'll shut you up permanently."

**TBC**

_If you have any questions or comments you'd like answered please feel free to ask them and thank you for taking the time to read this update.. _

_MidgeVS5_


	4. Chapter 4

**SAM, SAMMY, SAMANTHA.**

_**Warning: **__This story is rated M both for strong language and for content of an extremely mature nature. Please consider yourself warned and please don't read if you are of a sensitive nature._

_Disclaimer: Supernatural and the Winchesters belong to Eric Kripke. _

_I owe a huge thank you to my betas Mars and Merisha for all their work and to everyone who has take the time to read and / or review. Thank you._

**CHAPTER FOUR – HUNTING **

"I. Said. Shut. Up."

Dean recognises the familiar click of the safety being released on a gun and stills. Inside, he's fighting the panic of being restrained and blindfolded.

"Or I'll shut you up permanently!"

He hears a round being chambered and swallows. _OK so I'm dealing with a woman. Fight or talk? Come on, Dean, talking to a woman shouldn't be a problem; after all, chatting up women is your middle name. _The cold metal of the gun barrel being pushed against his opening mouth stops his thoughts cold.

"You weren't going to speak, were you?" she sneers.

All thoughts of talking disappear. He slowly and carefully shakes his head.

"Good boy. Let's keep it that way."

The gun is removed. Dean releases the breath he didn't realise he was holding. The gun barrel taps against his chin, a reminder of who is in charge.

"Oh, and stop fighting. You'll only hurt yourself."

Dean doesn't move a muscle.

As the physical threat disappears, Dean realises she's right, his body is slowly but surely registering the truth of her words. Fighting has increased the pull of the cuffs on his wrists and his shoulders throb in time with the thump of his pulse. He stretches up onto his toes, taking his weight off his abused arms.

He sucks in a deep breath and is relieved when his ribs don't object. So many times in the past when he's woken up, they have. He gingerly shakes his head. No pain or nausea so presumably no concussion.

_So what the hell happened? Who have I pissed off now? And where is Sammy? _His last memory of Sam was at the farm. He sends up a silent prayer that his brother is still there.

A female voice breaks into his thoughts and he's vaguely aware that it's a different voice. "Hey, you never did explain why you didn't bring him straight here this morning?"

"Cops were crawling all over the industrial estate, checking vehicles. Don't know why, but I couldn't risk them searching the RV."

"Oh God, no!"

Dean struggles to stay balanced on his toes. His leg muscles shake with the effort as the conversation between the girls floats past his ears. Without warning the twitching in his muscles becomes too much and his legs give way. His shoulders and wrists scream as his full weight is dropped back on them. "Arhh, fuck," he groans.

"Damn it!" the first female voice exclaims. "Here, give him this."

Cassie takes the syringe from her sister and steps up to Dean. Without hesitation she plunges the needle into their prize. He cries out briefly, dragging in deep rasping breaths as he starts to struggle again, but the drug is quick acting and soon his chin rests back on his chest. Unconsciousness has reclaimed him and his body hangs limply in the restraints, his breathing soft and even.

The women look at each other and grin. "Easy money!"

"But who the hell is he?" Mahogany Hair ask indicating a mass of cards on the table before her.

Cassie sifts through the documents and picks up one. Her eyebrows lift. "Bikini salesman?" She picks up another "Insurance investigator?" She flicks open a leather case "FBI!" The women stare at each other.

"Must be a criminal."

"You think?"

"Definitely!"

Mahogany Hair picks up the gun she was holding earlier ensuring the safety is back in place. It shines like new and has an ivory handle and engravings on the barrel that gleam in the light. It is strangely beautiful. After a long moment of staring at the gun, she puts it down again and turns to her accomplice. "OK, you know the drill. Go lose his car and I'll start making arrangements this end."

xXx

In the dark small hours of the morning, Cassie stands in Sulphur's shopping mall's parking lot and stares in disbelief at the empty space in front of her. Has she got the wrong place? She looks around, even though she's positive this is the exact spot she parked the beautiful black classic Impala in. "No, no, no."

She steps away from her little car, turning full circle as she stares in growing dismay at the empty lot. "Where the hell is it?" Panic claws at her, turning her voice hoarse. "I don't fucking believe this!"

With shaking fingers she pulls out her cell phone and dials her sister. "Come on, sis, please pick up."

"_Hello, you know the drill. Leave a message and I'll get back to you."_

"Dammit. Where the hell are you?" _When I need you_, she adds silently.

Suddenly, shit-scared, she runs back to her car and burns rubber as she leaves the deserted lot.

xXx

Mac is sitting at the small table in the motel room with the early morning sunshine filtering through the shabby curtains. Caleb has finally fallen asleep, fully clothed, on top of one of the beds. The twins are in the next room, Bobby in the one after that. He hopes they are all sleeping too. Despite his earlier insistence they all needed to rest, no one heeded his advice until a couple of hours ago.

Mac holds Dean's cell phone in his hands and tries yet again to relax enough to get a fresh reading. So far, he has been unable to add to his earlier feelings. He shakes his head, frustration building. All he can be absolutely sure about is that Dean is alive.

He stands and stretches. He snags the Impala keys on the way to the door. Perhaps a change of scene will help.

Caleb stirs as Mac opens the door. "Where you going?"

"Outside."

"Dad?"

Mac knows his son is asking if there is any news yet. "Nothing new. Go back to sleep, son."

Not waiting for Caleb to say more, Mac steps outside and closes the door quietly behind him. He breathes in the cool fresh air, feeling it wash away some of the cobwebs from his brain.

He strides across the lot to the pride and joy of the eldest Winchester and runs his hand along its gleaming roof before unlocking the door and settling behind the steering wheel. He grips the wheel lightly and closes his eyes, picturing Dean driving with Sam beside him before letting his mind drift.

xXx

Dawn has broken when Cassie rushes into the warehouse. She has to find her sister, tell her about the missing car. But her route takes her past their latest acquisition and she can't resist taking another look. His body has filled her imagination since she first saw him and she wants to know if he looks as good in the cold light of day.

She approaches the corner of the run down garage where he is being kept, her sneakers silent on the concrete floor.

As he comes into view, she is surprised to see him awake and struggling. She approaches cautiously, unsure what to do. Her foot scuffs on an uneven piece of floor and he stops moving. He twists towards her. Cassie sees the blindfold is pushed above his eyes and hides behind a pile of boxes.

He peers in her direction. "Hey, asshole!"

Cassie looks frantically around expecting her sister to appear any moment. _Where is she? _When she doesn't see or hear her,she takes matters into her own hands. "Hey," she replies.

"I don't know who the fuck you are, but you better fucking well get me down from here!"

"Sorry." His anger scares her. "Can't help you there."

"Shit. They got you too?" His voice softens. "What's your name?"

Cassie smiles to herself. "C...Sandra." _Damn. Nearly got caught out there, _"What's yours?"

"Sandra, I'm Dean."

From the shadows beyond him, Cassie sees her sister approach. Her sibling's face is hard as she picks up a filled syringe from on top of the table against the wall and pads on silent feet across to Dean. She jabs the needle into his buttock and injects its contents.

Dean flinches away from the sudden sharp pain. "What the fuck? Sandra? What 'he hell d'you just do t'me?" His words slur, the drug quickly taking effect, silencing and stilling the man until he once again hangs limply in the restraints.

Shereaches up and re-ties the blindfold across his eyes before turning to the dark corner where Cassie is hiding."What the hell you playing at, Cassandra?"

Cassie edges out from her hiding place and slowly approaches her furious sibling. "I – um – er -" She fidgets nervously, her gaze on the floor.

"Forget it. I don't want to know. Just tell me why the hell you're here? You're supposed to be disposing of his car."

"I went, but it wasn't there!" Her words tumble from her lips. "It isn't where I left it." she waves her arms frantically, gaze riveted on the other woman's face, "It's gone!"

xXx

For all intents and purposes, Mackland looks asleep at the wheel of the Impala. His eyes pop open moments before the nearby motel door crashes open. His tousle haired son is waving frantically. "Dad. Dad!"

Mac peels his stiff knuckles from the steering wheel and takes a deep breath before exiting the car. His mouth turns up in a half smile at the sight of Caleb rushing towards him despite his bootless feet shouting, "I got something."

Mac locks the Impala and heads across the parking lot to his now hopping son. "Me too." He turns Caleb back to their motel room.

His son rubs his forehead and Mac's smile fades. "You OK? Vision?"

"No – not exactly. I've been trying to connect to Dean. Finally I got him for a minute or two before the link went dead again."

Mac closes the door behind them and pushes Caleb down onto the bed. "Tell me," he says as he sits opposite him.

"He's pissed and worried about someone else."

"Sam?"

"No. Well, not only Sam – someone else, female."

Mac fills his son's thoughtful silence. "I got a picture of packing cases and tyres." He pauses. "And cold."

Caleb's worried eyes meet his. "Did you get enough to track him?"

"No. Just more clues."

"Damn. So what now?"

"We wake everyone up and start looking for somewhere quiet that has tyres and boxes. And we look for a missing girl."

xXx

The sun is high in the sky when Elijah walks into Cassie's Coffee Shop. Bobby is busy at the gas station. He looks around the bustling cafe taking in the groups of people eating and drinking, and the lone waiter clearing tables. Nothing looks out of the ordinary. He focuses his attention on the woman behind the counter.

"Good morning, sir," smiles the assistant. 'Welcome to Cassie's Coffee Shop. What can I get you?"

"Two coffees to go, please."

She scans the parking lot through the plate glass window before asking, "Two coffees coming right up. You here with your wife?"

"No, a friend. He's at the gas station."

Her eyes flick across to the gas station before she turns away to get Elijah his coffees. Reaching into his inside pocket, Elijah pulls out a picture of Dean. He places it on the counter alongside a police badge. As she turns back to him, coffees in hand, he checks the plump woman's name badge. "Martha, have you served this man in the last couple of days?"

She looks at the picture and badge before looking up at Elijah. "No, sir. I've been on holiday for a few days. But Jake - " She waves her hand in the direction of a young man clearing tables. " - was in." The young man looks up at Elijah.

"Thanks, Martha." Elijah drops payment and a tip onto the counter and picks up the coffees. He heads across the cafe to Jake. "Hi, Jake. Martha tells me you're the man to talk to."

"Maybe." Jake answers nervously.

Elijah shows him the picture of Dean, together with his ID. "Have you seen this man in the last couple of days?"

Jake peers at the picture and shuffles his feet. "Yeah. He was in early yesterday. Why? What's he done?" His eyes dart around the busy shop.

"Let's talk outside." Elijah steers the young man out the door and along the building until they are out of sight of everyone inside. "Son, whatever you can tell me is confidential, OK?"

Jakes looks at his feet, twisting his hands together. Finally he looks up at Eli. "Just between us – guaranteed?"

"Guaranteed."

Jake takes a deep breath, obviously gathering his courage. "He came in around nine, the shop was quiet. Just me and the boss. I went to serve him but – well, I ended up dropping his coffee. She took over serving him while I cleaned up. He left minutes later, coffee and doughnut on the house." Jake finishes in a rush. Elijah doesn't sense any lies in the young man's words but his gut tells him there is more to the story.

"Jake – What aren't you telling me?" he asks gently. "What else happened?"

"Erm...the boss...erm...well...erm...she was all over him...if you know what I mean...undone her shirt buttons when she first saw him...drying his jeans when the coffee spilt...couldn't do enough for him." Jake's face is bright red when he finishes.

"What's the name of your boss?"

"Cassandra Phillips."

"Uh-huh. Now you said he left alone?"

"Yeah."

"Any phone numbers change hands? Any promises to meet up?"

"Not that I know of."

"OK. So how did Cassandra, your boss, seem afterwards?"

"Happy."

"Happy?"

"Yeah. She was singing and smiling. Then she left with barely a word ten minutes later, when an old RV pulled up outside."

Elijah ponders the information. Something doesn't fit, but he still can't pick up any lies from Jake...

"Can I go now, Sir? I should get back to work."

"What? Oh yeah. Thanks for your help."

Jake turns away, but Elijah stops him. "Jake. Anything like this ever happen with your boss before?"

"Not that I know of, but I've only worked here two weeks."

"Right. Thanks." Eli reaches out to the young man, pressing some notes into his hand, "You've been a great help."

The boys smiles and rushes back into the coffee shop leaving Eli thinking hard.


	5. Chapter 5

**SAM, SAMMY, SAMANTHA.**

_**Warning: **__This story is rated M both for strong language and for content of an extremely mature nature. Please consider yourself warned and please don't read if you are of a sensitive nature._

_Disclaimer: Supernatural and the Winchesters belong to Eric Kripke. _

_My thanks go as always to my amazing betas, Mars and Merisha and to everyone out there reading and review. You make me very happy._

_**This story has carried a content warning from the start, but it's from this chapter onwards that it really becomes relevant. Please do not read if you dislike strong language or are shocked by scenes of a sexual nature.**_

**CHAPTER FIVE – SAM, SAMMY, SAMANTHA.**

The sun is setting on another day in Sulphur. In a busy diner in the centre of town, five hunters sit deep in conversation. Their words are muted in volume but heated in tone.

"Thirty six hours and we're no nearer to knowing what happened to Deuce or where he is now." Caleb's words reflect the lines of worry etched on each man's face. "We should call Sam."

"No." Mac's voice is calm but firm.

"You know as well as I do that he can track his brother when I can't" Caleb argues.

"No. Sam stays put."

Caleb opens his mouth to object further but Mac pre-empts him. "No. Not yet. Doctor's orders." His attempt at humour falls on deaf ears. "He must rest and heal if he is be fully fit in days instead of weeks. I promise, I'll call him if we're no closer this time tomorrow."

The despondent atmosphere remains heavy as half eaten meals are pushed around plates.

In an attempt to move things forward Elijah speaks up, listing what they do know in full professor mode. "We know that he's not in any local hospital or morgue. We know he left the coffee shop alive and well. We know he didn't drive his car to the shopping mall. There's no evidence of him being injured in the Impala. Equally there's no evidence of demonic or other supernatural activity in the area." He pauses for breath. "The only suspicious activity is an RV which stopped at the coffee shop minutes after he left, picking up its boss. Which leads us to the idea of abduction."

Ethan jumps in. "Which also brings us back round to the police reports I dug up on men and women disappearing round here. Some turned up dead, weeks or months later, all over the country - but others are still missing. There is no concrete evidence to connect them to Dean's disappearance but the more I think about it - " He pauses looking at Caleb before continuing. "- the more I'm thinking human trafficking."

xXx

Deep in the warehouse, under a single working strip light, Mahogany Hair stretches up on tip-toes. Her fingers check that the bandages under the cuffs have done their job to prevent bloodshed. A hiss of pain escapes her glossy lips as she bends down to tug at the shackles that now secure his feet to the floor.

"Wish these hadn't been necessary, but you are one bad man." She rubs at the bruises on her legs hidden by her elegant trousers. "All I wanted was to give you a drink and you had to go and kick me."

Who would've believed bare feet could inflict such pain. She straightens and checks his eyes. Still deeply unconscious.

She runs her hand down his chest and stomach. Her fingers dwell for a moment as she enjoys the feel of firm muscles and washboard flat stomach. No muscles twitch in response to her touch and she pouts in disgust. "Someone up there doesn't like me!"

All the time she's held this man captive, he's shown signs of stirring at every noise and touch. But now she wants him awake, he's dead to the world. _Typical!_

Tapping a beautifully manicured nail against her chin, she contemplates the man hanging before her. Naked apart from the black silk blindfold around his eyes, she takes in the myriad of scars that criss-cross his taut body. She's going to have to do her best preparatory work if she wants to come out on top tonight.

Making a decision, she disappears through a nearby door, returning moments later with a bucket of hot soapy water and a thick, fluffy towel. Placing the items a short distance away, she steps to the side of her prisoner. _OK, girl, time to apply some simple physics._

Steadying him with one hand on his buttocks, she presses her other hand firmly low down on his belly. As she hoped, his bladder lets go. She maintains the pressure until the flow trickles to a stop, disappearing down the nearby grate. Satisfied there won't be any unfortunate accidents now, she removes the blindfold and begins to wash him down.

She rubs the wet sponge over his head and is pleased to see him flinch as the water trickles down his face and neck. _Perhaps he will be awake in time for the show. Nothing gives her more pleasure than her victims being fully aware for the night's entertainment._

Once she's soaped every inch of his body, she picks up the towel and carefully dries him. Noticing his breathing has picked up, she quickly replaces the blindfold. By the time she's finished, he is shaking his head and mumbling incoherently.

xXx

Water runs down Dean's neck and shoulders. He opens his eyes. The dark blinding pressure that had earlier been wrapping his head is gone, but he still can't see anything. _Freaking motel! As if a crappy shower isn't bad enough, now the lights have gone out!_

Out of the pitch black, something pink and flexible looms. He tries to back away but his body won't move. He watches it come closer, his mind recoiling as it recognises the shape as a tongue – a huge pink tongue dripping with saliva. _Shit! I'm not in a crappy motel. I'm in a monster's lair!_

He can't see the creature's features but, judging by the size of the tongue, it has to be huge. His breath catches in his throat as he tries to cry out. The tongue washes across his face, rubs through his hair, coating him in sweet, sickly smelling saliva that runs down his chest. He gags, desperate to escape the enormous sharp teeth that must surely accompany the tongue. But he still can't move.

Hot, sticky gunge drips off Dean's chin to join the sweet smelling puddle covering his feet. As he watches the ever widening ripples of each drip, orange flames erupt around his legs. Their heat licks and caresses his bare legs. He watches horrified as his skin begins to melt and run like candle wax, leaving him standing on bleached bare bones. _Weird. It doesn't hurt. Surely it should hurt? Why doesn't it hurt?_

The flames flare deep red and smoke billows up. They swirl around Dean in an increasingly oily demonic roil. Gaining speed, it splits into several pieces slithering around and through the bones of his legs. The pieces solidify as they wrap around his chest and tiny red flames take on the shape of eyes, eyes that stare hungrily at Dean. They are quickly replaced by mouths filled with sharp teeth and lolling black tongues. Recognition slams into Dean's brain. _Hell-hounds! _

He stares terrified as they nuzzle and lick the soft skin of his belly. Their mouths slowly open wider and wider, their teeth growing longer and longer and all he can do is watch, his body paralysed.

Suddenly a soft, gentle and reassuring voice cuts across the horrors of his imagination. _Sammy. Thank God. I'm dreaming. _Even without knowing what his brother is saying, he relaxes into the care the tone of voice implies.

Familiar fingers stroke his forehead and ease through his hair. Soft cloth is laid across his eyes and pressed down. It tightens around his head._ No! Sammy. What you doing? Why won't you let me see? _Panic raises it ugly head. A soft fluffy towel appears, easing his concerns away as it strokes gently across his chest and around his sore shoulders. _Oh Sammy. I'm sorry. I must be badly injured if you're this worried. _

The soothing touch ceases. "_Don't worry, Dean, it'll all be over soon." _Sammy's soft voice fades into the distance leaving him alone in the dark. Panic returns. The sound of hell- hound's claws clicking on concrete, growing ever louder, circling closer and closer. "Sammy!" he screams in his head. "Don't leave me."

xXx

"_Police. Please state your emergency."_

"11 o'clock tonight," whispers a wavering voice. "Sullivan's Warehouse, in Sulphur. You have to be there."

"Sir, could you repeat that?"

"I don't have the time!" His eyes are huge in his pale face as he looks frantically around the gas station, the terror on his face at odds with his expensive clothes and neatly trimmed hair.

"_Sir. I need you to repeat the message."_

"No time. Sullivan's Warehouse. A man's life depends on it. Be there." He slams the receiver back in its cradle, almost missing it in his haste to finish the call.

Stumbling from the payphone, he rushes back to the silver Porsche waiting by the pumps. He drops into the passenger seat seconds before a heavy, olive-skinned man approaches the car from the direction of the rest rooms. He gets in but doesn't look at his passenger.

As the powerful car pulls away, the passenger's hands are clasped between his legs to stop their shaking, and he stares straight ahead.

"What's the matter with you?" the driver demands.

The passenger starts nervously and turns to the driver, stammering, "Nothing... just...not used to being...left alone."

The driver stares long and hard at him before turning back to the road. "I've paid your master a lot of money for this alone time. If you want me to keep quiet about your... jitters … I expect a very pleasant journey."

"Yes, sir. Of course, sir."

Turning in his seat the young passenger reaches across to unzip the driver's pants, breathing a sigh of relief that he is being offered a chance to avoid punishment. He lowers his head into the customer's lap, his stroking fingers guiding the hardening flesh to his more intimate ministrations. Hearing the driver's sigh of pleasure, he sends up a silent prayer that his stolen phone call will make this the last time he has to debase himself this way.

xXx

Dean's world has a dream like quality. It is dark and no matter how hard he tries he can't pry his eyelids open. His body feels heavy and sluggish but his head feels as though it's floating free.

A soft, gentle voice tempts him to move towards it. He struggles to comply, fighting the desperate desire to sink back into oblivion.

When he finally breaks free of the drug-induced sleep, he finds a world of overstretched muscles and joints, all screaming for attention. He is not alone. He isn't sure how he knows, but he is sure. "Sammy?" he croaks, his throat and mouth too dry.

"Oh, hello." The voice is soft, sweet and very feminine. "You're finally awake."

Dean swallows hard, trying to bring moisture to his mouth. "Who are you?"

"Not important. I'm here to prepare you."

His mind whirls. "Prepare me?"

"Uh-huh."

"Prepare me? For what? Argh!"

He cries out as cool, thick liquid trickles down his back making his sore muscles flinch. It is quickly followed by warm, gentle hands spreading and smoothing it into his skin. "Get off me, bitch!"

He pulls against his restraints but the hands take no notice of his struggles and continue tracing the definition of his back muscles. He tries to kick out but his feet are pulled up short, restraints biting into his ankles. "Leave me the fuck alone!" he screams as he twists and writhes, but he can't escape her touch.

"Nope." Her hands move down working the oil into his lower back, using relaxing circular movements, movements that in a soft warm bed he would find very enjoyable, very arousing. Now they're scaring the hell out of him. "I'm gonna fucking kill you if you don't fucking let me go!"

"Nope."

"Fucking bitch! I'm gonna rip you to shreds."

"Language, Dean," she chides, her fingers dipping and caressing around and between his buttocks.

Dean is shocked and horrified to feel his body begin to tighten in response to her touch. Frantically he tries to employ mind over matter and distract himself. "You know me?"

"Of course."

Her certainty sends shivers up his spine. He searches his memory, trying to locate her voice. But nothing and no-one comes to mind. "How? Who the hell are you?"

"Sammy."

_Sammy! _Confusion reigns in Dean's brain. Does she mean she knows him through Sammy? Has she got Sammy here somewhere? Or does she mean her name is Sammy too?

No, he doesn't believe that, she's messing with him, messing with his head and if that's the case, the question probably should be, what is she? Her hands are working down the back of his leg, so he settles for a simple if idiotic question. "What?"

"My name is Sammy."

"Liar!"

She doesn't respond, but Dean can feel her warm breath against the back of his leg as her hands continue their work. Under other circumstances he would revel in the sensations she is igniting in his body, but right now, they feel like betrayal. He tries to blot out her touch, but it's tough with little else to focus on. "Tell me your real name… please."

For the longest time he thinks she isn't going to answer him, as her attention shifts to working on his other leg. Then as her fingers graze the sensitive skin at the back of his knee she responds. "Sam, Sammy, Samantha."

Dean huffs out a half laugh, half sob, as her words ignite a flare of panic in his heart. "Don't say that!'

"Why not?"

"You're not Sammy." There's a hint of desperation in his voice, a plea for her to stop messing with him. "You're the wrong sex."

"Pardon me?" Her voice is indignant and edged with anger.

Sudden fear for Sam silences Dean. He doesn't want to draw attention to Sam by talking about him. The last thing he can recall clearly is leaving his brother at the farm, resting a sprained ankle, with Mac there acting as both doctor and Scholar. But is Sam still at the farm, safe? Dean doesn't know and that terrifies him. He knows perfectly well that if Sam even suspects his brother is in trouble, nothing will keep him away.

He tries for a calm, non-threatening tone as he changes the subject. "Let me see you… please." But he can't quite hide his desperation.

"Nope."

"Why the hell not?"

"If you don't see me, you can't remember me."

"Oh, I'll remember you, bitch, and that's a fucking promise," he spits out, his attempt at calm and non-threatening completely forgotten as frustration feeds his anger.

"Tut, tut, Dean, I've warned you about the language." Her hands continue their tempting caress of his legs, moving ever higher. She doesn't miss the increased tension of anticipation in his muscles or the audible inhale as she slides her hands down to his feet again, before circling in front of him.

"Why am I here?" he blurts out as her warm breath tickles his assets and they twitch in response.

"Money, honey."

"What?"

"Shame about all the scars. I've had to reduce the asking price."

"Chicks dig scars." Dean mumbles the automatic response as, desperate to avoid his body responding any more to the intimate position, he focuses on her previous words.

"Wait. What do you mean reduce the asking price? What the fuck do you plan on doing to me?"

"Sell you."

**TBC**


	6. Chapter 6

**SAM, SAMMY, SAMANTHA.**

_Disclaimer: Supernatural and the Winchesters belong to Eric Kripke. _

_Thanks to everyone who is sticking around to read this naughty little story and another thank you to my betas Mars and Merisha for their sterling work. Sorry girls, I've been tweaking, so all errors are definitely mine._

_**Warning: This story is rated M both for strong language and for content of an extremely mature and graphic nature.**__ Please consider yourself warned and please don't read on if you are of a sensitive nature._

**CHAPTER SIX – EVERY INCH A STUD**

"Human trafficking."

Ethan's words hang in the air above the table of hunters. They are seated in the diner across town and each face is pale as they digest the implications of those two words.

Bobby's gravelly voice breaks the silence. "Any recent missing girls?"

Ethan shakes his head. "No."

Caleb's face is white as fear and horror make his heart pound. Mac knows his own face reflects his son's distress and he offers support the only way he can, placing a none too steady hand on the back of his son's neck.

Ethan's cell phone ringing breaks the ensuing silence. He pulls it out and slides from the booth to take the call outside but, before he is half way across the diner, he stops and turns back to his fellow hunters.

Eli sees fear flash across his twin's face and half stands but Ethan waves him back. He ends the call and returns to the table. "That was Sheriff Hutton. A few minutes ago, they received an anonymous 911 call directing them to the Sullivans' Warehouse in Sulphur. Tonight 11pm – a man will be killed."

"Why'd they call you?"

"I asked to be informed of anything out of the ordinary – and out here this obviously falls in that category."

"OK, smartass, but how does this relate to Dean?"

"I don't know."

All evening, Bobby has sat quietly in the background listening but not offering much to the discussions. Now he is agitated, one hand pulling at his ever present baseball cap, the other drumming on the table top, and he is muttering, "Sullivans' Warehouse? Sullivans' Warehouse! Where have I heard that before? Damn it, old man, remember."

"Bobby?" Mac turns to his old friend, concern evident in his enquiry.

"What is it?" Caleb adds.

"Shut up. Let an old man think."

Caleb's eyebrows rise, his expression matched around the table. It is unusual enough for Bobby to refer to himself as old but twice in as many sentences is worrying. Just as Mac reaches out to his friend, Bobby looks up, eyes bright. "Got it!"

"That's good?"

"Yes, dammit, 'course it is. Or at least I hope it is. I knew I'd heard the name Sullivans' before."

Caleb beats his father to the promt, "So spill."

Bobby huffs but obliges. "The gas station by the coffee shop where Dean was last seen used to be called Sullivans' Gas Station. I spoke with the new manager this morning. Seems the multi-national has only owned it for a few months, and the junk-yard at the back wasn't included in the sale. The manager doesn't know who owns that."

"Junk-yard, huh! No wonder you were interested."

Bobby grumbles, "Professional interest, Junior. You never know when you might need spare parts for a '67 Impala."

Ethan refocuses the conversation. "Interesting as this is, how does it relate to our problem?"

"If you're done interrupting I may have an answer for you." The table quiets and Bobby continues. "As part of my 'professional' interest, I took a walk around. Slap bang in the centre, well hidden from casual view is a big space. Tyre tracks indicate a large vehicle has come and gone a lot recently. Turns out an old RV is stored there. Sometimes it doesn't move for weeks, other times it's gone for days and other times, it's only gone a few minutes. Struck me as odd but not related to Dean, so apart from asking about who owned the yard, I didn't pay it any more attention."

Beside them, Eli has his laptop out, his fingers flying across its keys.

"Sullivans' Gas Station was part of Sullivans' Gas and Haulage," he says. "Owned and run by George Sullivan since 1964, until his death 3 years ago when it passed to his son, James, who …"

"Enough Wikipedia, Professor," Caleb interrupts. "Where is this Sullivans' warehouse?"

"We don't know if this is relevant to our hunt, Caleb," Ethan defends his sibling.

"At this point I don't care. We don't have anything else so we may as well check it out."

"I'm with Junior on this." says Bobby "Sullivans'' warehouse. Sullivans' junk-yard. Sullivans' Gas and Haulage. An RV with mysterious movements, currently missing from the same junk-yard. Possibly the same RV as seen picking up the coffee shop's boss after her meeting with Dean. Add in Mac's pictures of tyres and packing case and it's good enough for me." Bobby stands from the table as he replaces his cap on his head.

Caleb is already striding for the door, Bobby not far behind as Mac adds his agreement. "OK, let's go take a look at this warehouse."

xXx

"Wait. What do you mean reduce the asking price? What the fuck do you plan on doing to me?"

"I told you. I'm selling you."

Deep in the warehouse, 'Samantha' crouches before her naked prisoner's taut body. Her warm breath is tickling his assets and she is taking care to ensure every inch of his legs gleam with massage oil.

Under the blindfold Dean's eyebrows disappear up to his hairline. "Sell! … what!" Cold sweat coats his body as his imagination goes into overdrive. Strung up like a side of beef, naked and coated in oil, with his body semi aroused, his thoughts go straight to sex, sex slaves and prostitution. _Holy shit! – no way!_

"Sell me to do what?" he asks slowly, not sure he wants an honest answer.

"No idea." She sounds flippant, and it's not the answer he was expecting and certainly not reassuring.

"You can't fucking do this. I'm not worth anything."

"Sure you are, Dean. You're worth a lot of money."

_Only to the FBI,_ Dean thinks, but he keeps that titbit to himself. No need to borrow more trouble.

"I'll pay you." He tries to keep the desperation out of his voice, "Pay you to let me go." Her hands pause for a micro second and he pushes on, "I'll double what you expect to get. Hell I'll fucking triple it!"

Her hands recommence their work. "Nope." Satisfied his legs are done she pours more oil and begins spreading it across his chest muscles.

"Why the hell not?" He pulls angrily at his restraints, but his only reward is white hot pain that starts in his abused shoulders and radiates out to everywhere. "Argh! Sonofabitch! For fuck's sake, let me down from here!"

The only response he gets is, "Tut-tut" followed by extra pressure on his front as her hands firmly massage oil across his chest, down his well defined abs and across his flat stomach. She begins humming to herself, and Dean feels his breath hitch as her fingers continue their exploration. As her slippery hands wrap themselves around his assets and draw oil along his length, she stands and breathes, "You might enjoy your new life."

Dean's brain whirls, desperately trying to process his situation, to find a way out, but he can't string two coherent thoughts together. 'Samantha' continues to draw oil around his balls, and Dean's body betrays him, responding in the most basic, instinctual way. His penis lengthens and hardens, rearing away from his body with a life of its own. "Get your fucking hands off me, bitch!" Dean's voice wavers slightly, as he fights to control himself.

She lets go abruptly and for the first time her voice sounds truly angry. "I really had hoped this wouldn't be necessary." She forces a knotted gag into Dean's mouth and ties it firmly behind his head. "But my buyers are due soon and I won't have your foul mouth ruining everything."

A shiver of fear runs down Dean's spine as her words hit home the gravity of his situation. He's suddenly very aware that he's wasted his chance to research his predicament. He should not have let his control slip; he should have been calm and polite. He should have used his well honed investigative skills to find out where he is, why he's there and even, fuck it, how long he's been there. _Nice job Dean. Screwed yourself to hell here. _

His self recrimination is interrupted by her soft hand wrapping back around his penis, taking its weight. Any semblance of pleasure is cut off by a sharp stab of pain at its base. His cry is muffled by the gag in his mouth and he swallows hard. His breath comes in short pants as the pain is followed by a steady coldness spreading through his groin. The point of pain disappears, replaced by soft fingers massaging the spot. _Shit! Was that an injection?_

"That should hold."

The spreading coldness is rapidly replaced by a warm heaviness that centres on his now throbbing penis. Even without his eyesight to confirm his suspicions, he knows he's more heavily aroused than he's ever been before. Now, not only is he blindfolded, chained up, oiled and naked as a babe, he's gagged and being sold like a slab of meat, complete with a hard on! Where the hell are Sam and Caleb when he needs them?

He hears the click of a switch and even through the blackness of the blindfold, he can sense the sudden change in the level of light. _What now? _

A few yards from Dean, 'Samantha' turns from the switch and surveys her prize. He looks every inch a stud. His oiled skin gleaming in the bright spotlights, his muscles taut with tension. _Yep, it should be an easy sale tonight. _Smiling, she turns away, walking through the warehouse, heading for her buyers.

Dean listens to her clicking heels fade away and knows he is alone again. A steadily increasing feeling of warmth bathes every inch of his body and increases his fear. His heart pounds and his lungs can't get enough oxygen. Fear borders on panic. Desperate to escape before the bitch returns, he frantically tugs and writhes in the restraints. The gag muffles his sobs of despair as nothing gives and he remains a prisoner prepared for sale.

xXx

Outside, a darkened car followed by a plain van make their way around deep potholes before pulling into the shadows that surround the warehouse. It parks close to a rusted metal door, next to other vehicles that are also hiding in shadows. Seconds later, the rusted metal door opens, and the cars empty their occupants into the warehouse.

Across the dark space between the buildings, Caleb and Ethan watch the sudden activity with growing trepidation then irritation when several men remain outside circling the vehicles protectively.

"This is definitely Sullivans' Warehouse and something is definitely happening," Ethan whispers.

Caleb nods, revelling in the knowledge that Dean is conscious and not far away. He ignores the related sick feeling that has been building in his stomach ever since his connection to Dean thrummed back into life. "I wonder if it was one of them who called 911?"

"Maybe, but Sherriff Hutton did say the caller sounded terrified, and they don't give any impression of being terrified."

Caleb nods slowly, his eyes assessing the scene before him for long seconds before he turns back to Ethan. "How did you manage to keep the blue and whites away?"

"Pulled rank with a little help from Bobby, who told them it was a hush hush operation I was to run as I saw fit."

"And they believed you?"

Ethan snorts "You and the Winchesters aren't the only ones who can lie."

xXx

Inside the warehouse, Dean forces himself to calm down and put his game face back on. He listens hard and ignores everything else. He ignores the hot throbbing heaviness that is centred in his groin. He ignores the stiff ache in his shoulders, the pull on his wrists, the tingling numbness in fingers and hands. And he ignores the light-headedness that threatens his concentration.

He listens intently to the footsteps approaching, trying to determine how many people are coming, whether they are male or female, and exactly where they are in relation to him. He isn't sure what good it will do him, but he doesn't want any more surprises. Most stop some distance behind him with only a few coming closer. He can tell they're circling him, feels the movement of the air on his tingling skin and hears the clicking of hard heels on the floor.

"Ladies and gentlemen." The hated female voice that Dean reluctantly acknowledges as 'Samantha' launches into her sales pitch. "As none of us want to attract attention, let's get on with this. As you will see from the multiple ID's on the back table, this one will not be missed. He has a beautiful muscular body that has many possible uses."

Dean seethes but battens down his humiliation and anger. He wonders, not for the first time, how he's going to get out of this mess.

"Obviously been in a lot of fights. Likely to be too much trouble to … keep!" A sickly high pitched male voice comments. "You should be selling him for the ring not for...."

"Chicks dig scars!" 'Samantha' cuts him off.

Dean is startled by her use of his earlier comment and almost misses the new and sharp female voice that snaps, "What do you think I'm here looking for? A toy boy?"

"My customers pay more for unmarked goods," a third female voice adds.

"But I'm sure his sheer masculine sexuality will more than make up for it."

Dean continues to listen carefully, placing and marking the people around him. But concentrating is getting increasingly hard, the dizziness is almost nauseating and the heavy needy throb of his distended penis is demanding his attention.

"I'm still not sure he will ever repay the investment," the sickly high pitched voice says.

"Take a feel. I assure you that body is pure muscle."

Despite trying to steel his nerves for what he knows is coming, Dean can't suppress his shudder of revulsion when he feels rough male hands pawing him. One large, particularly calloused, hand runs down his chest, across his stomach and curls around his assets and squeezes. His sharp intake of breath is not missed by its owner. "Like that, do you?"

Dean tries to squirm free. 'Hand Man' laughs, his foul breath hot against Dean's face. His thumb circles the sensitive tip before sliding down his length and releasing him. Squirming back pushes his buttocks against the hand that is feeling him there. He jerks forward again, coming firmly into contact with a soft smooth hand that grips him briefly.

"You want more?" 'Hand man's voice takes on a nasty quality. "I know men and women who will pay a lot for enthusiasm."

Panic threatens, but Dean pushes it down and raises his chin in defiance. He forces himself to stay absolutely still as other hands feel his back, legs and finally squeeze his biceps.

"OK Ladies and gentlemen." 'Samantha' says. "Time is short. Your bids, please. Who will start me off at ten thousand dollars?"

**TBC**

_How much would you pay to own Dean? Is ten thousand dollars too high or too low?_


	7. Chapter 7

**SAM, SAMMY, SAMANTHA.**

_Disclaimer: Supernatural and the Winchesters belong to Eric Kripke. _

_Thanks to everyone who is sticking around to read this naughty little story and as always a huge thank you to my betas Mars and Merisha for their hard work. _

_**Warning: This story is rated M both for strong language and for content of an **__**extremely mature**__** nature.**__ Please consider yourself warned and please don't read if you are of a sensitive nature._

_So which nefarious buyer do you think won the bidding? And how much were they will to pay? Now I'm off to hide behind the settee until the dust settles! _

**CHAPTER SEVEN – BOUGHT AND PAID FOR**

Well hidden in a dark corner outside the warehouse, Caleb and Ethan whisper an update to Mac, Bobby and Elijah. "The warehouse is well sealed up. Only way in seems to be on this side, in sight of those guards."

"Dammit!"

"We have to get in there now," says Caleb pushing away from the group. Mac and Bobby grab him before he can move in the direction of the rusted door.

"Calm down. Dean will be fine,' Mac tells him.

"But my vision…."

"Was not conclusive." Mac is the calm voice of reason. "Plus you know he's OK. You'd have felt it if he wasn't."

Caleb relaxes slightly, reaching out with his mind, reassured when he feels Dean's life-thread, loud and clear. He nods to the two men holding him and they let go, returning to the discussion of the parked cars and guards.

xXx

"Fifty thousand dollars."

Silence fills the room following 'Hand Man's latest bid. He has more than doubled the previous bid and Dean is pretty sure he has just been sold.

"Any more offers?" prompts 'Samantha'.

Dean can almost feel the head shaking that is going on around him.

She claps her hands once. "Sold for fifty thousand dollars." Her voice is filled with glee. "Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for coming. Please see yourselves out, and have a safe journey home."

Dean hears footsteps moving away, fading voices, but he senses 'Hand Man' remaining close by. A shiver runs down his spine as the already hated voice speaks close to his ear, and a rough hand strokes and squeezes his buttocks.

"I own you now. You will do what I say, when I say it, and with whoever I say. Is that understood?" Dean's response of, "Fuck you," is muffled by the gag, but 'Hand Man' understands anyway. "You will call me Boss or Sir. Anything else will be punished with pain. And, I can promise you lots of pain. So much that you'll wonder how you ever felt without it. And all without adding a single new scar to your body!"

Abruptly he turns away from his purchase, directing his next order to one of his men "Get him ready for transport."

Dean tenses, ready to fight, but all he hears are footsteps moving away. His heart rate slowly calms while 'Samantha' and 'Hand Man' discuss the transaction. He hears the locks on a briefcase being released and minutes later he hears them click shut again. A shiver runs up his spine at the implications of that action.

"I hope he works out as well as your previous purchases," she says. "They look content with their lot."

'Hand Man' grunts, "Of course."

"Have you ever had a failure?"

"No. They all come round to my way of thinking eventually."

"How do you do it?"

Dean holds his breath, waiting for the answer. An answer he's not sure he wants to hear, but knows is important. Unfortunately 'Hand Man' doesn't answer as his men return. Dean tenses again in dreadful anticipation as people bustle around him.

"Wait!" 'Hand Man' booms. Dean jumps and jumps again when 'Hand Man' flicks his still stiffly erect penis from side to side. "We both know this is not natural and, if my guess about the drug used is correct, you should have a long way to go before it wears off." His barked laugh is joined by other nervous laughs from his thugs. "That makes it a perfect time for your taming to begin." He snaps his fingers and his boys approach. "Remove the blindfold. I want to see how drugged he is."

A female huff sounds from the corner. "It's only a little Viagra."

"Past experience tells me that the gag is not the only method you've used him to keep him quiet."

Dean blinks in the bright light and he tries to bring the room into focus. It wavers unsteadily and 'Hand Man' grips his chin as he stares into his eyes. "Green, huh! Clear and reactive too." Dropping his hand, he turns to one of his men. "Inject him!"

"No" Dean protests as loudly as he can past the gag. He shakes his head frantically and fights his restraints.

"Don't like that idea do you? And that's without knowing its effects. That's good. Fear is just as effective as pain!"

xXx

Outside, the hunters watch as vehicles pull away, leaving just one car and a black van behind. Deciding that this is as good as it's going to get, they move stealthily towards the rusted door, keeping to the shadows as far as possible. Part way there, Caleb suddenly grabs his head and swears. "Holy Shit."

"Son?" Mac hesitates beside him.

"Deuce is terrified. Something's happening."

"Cut the connection. Now, Caleb. You can't help him if you're incapacitated by his emotions." With a hand under his elbow, Mac helps Caleb towards the warehouse. They pause in the shadows as Mac updates the others with the new information. Their faces are bleak but determined as they approach the remaining vehicles. Bobby and Ethan creep around them, checking that they are empty and slashing the tyres to prevent an easy getaway.

When they're finished, Elijah carefully tries the door handle while the others wait out of sight. Surprised that it isn't locked, he opens it noiselessly and the hunters creep inside.

xXx

Dean struggles to see past the bright spotlight shining in his face. Silhouetted against another spotlight, he is horrified to see a filled syringe aiming at his arm.

'Hand Man's insidious voice fills his ears as the needle's contents are emptied into his bicep. "I'm guessing you've been in that position for some time. Shoulders already hurting? Throbbing down below?" Dean refuses to acknowledge the words. "That drug will turn every ache to excruciating agony and every bump and bang you endure on the journey will…" he laughs. "I think I'll let you find out how that feels for yourself."

Dean tries not to dwell on the words, but instead uses his eyes to assess his situation and plan an escape route. He sneaks a look up and can see that his cuffed hands are looped over a large hook. It looks so simple. Rise up onto tiptoes and unhook them. But with typical Winchester luck, it's not that simple, his feet are secured tightly to the floor. He can only hope that when they move him he'll get his chance to escape.

He scrunches his eyes against the bright lights and tries to surreptitiously count the bodies around him. One big man standing back, hands on hips. _Guess that's 'Hand Man'._ Another to his side. At least two more behind him. Not great odds, but providing they're all human he's had worse.

Next he assesses his body. 'Hand Man' is right, his shoulders hurt and they're getting worse. His groin area throbs unpleasantly. His head is dizzy and his vision fuzzy. Not great, but again he's had worse.

Suddenly hands are on him again. One pair fiddling round his ankles, another at his neck. He determinedly holds his chin down against his chest trying to judge the moment his feet are freed. The hands at his throat try to force his head up, but he resists, growling deep in his throat, ignoring the pain that rips through his scalp as his hair is viciously pulled yanking his head up.

"Lift your head, boy."

Throwing 'Hand Man' an angry glare, Dean jerks his chin back down feeling hair tear from his scalp. One foot is freed. Dean waits. Another pull on his hair rips torture through his head and is accompanied by the heel of a hand pushing his chin up. He shuts his eyes, concentrates and feels for the moment his second foot is freed. In that instant, he kicks out.

He catches the man by his feet under the chin, and sends him sprawling flat across the floor. Now he lets his head be pulled back, using the momentum to swing his feet forward. He fells the other man standing there and lets his head butt with the man behind him. Both fall away.

He raises himself onto his toes, and lifts his chained hands free of the hook.

The sudden adrenaline rush allows him to ignore the intense pain and black spots that swarm his vision. He drops into a defensive crouch checking all round, his cuffed hands out in front as he assesses the targets now climbing to their feet and circling him.

But before he can make another move, he is in agony. His muscles turn to jelly as 'Hand Man' zaps him with a taser! Muscles twitch uncontrollably as electricity rips through them and Dean crashes to the floor. White hot fire engulfs him, robbing him of any ability to think, plan or move.

"Now get him packed for transport." 'Hand Man's anger reverberates around the room, galvanising his men into action.

Without Dean's resistance, the gag is removed and a stiff leather collar buckled around his neck. It fits snugly between his jaw and collar bone and tips his head up, preventing him from looking anywhere but forward. Long leather cuffs encase his forearms, and his arms are pulled tight behind his back until his fingers touch the opposite elbow. His ankles are secured together with smaller cuffs. A long strap runs down his back from the collar and his arms and legs are buckled to it. He's hog tied.

'Hand Man's cheerful voice and the sight of another syringe being prepared welcomes Dean back to full consciousness. It disappears from his line of sight and he feels the intensely sharp stab of it being emptied into his arm. Now what!.

"Welcome back, boy. I hope you're comfy 'cos you've a long way to go in that position and it's a much better training exercise if you're awake for the duration." Glancing up at his men he orders, "Put him in."

Dean screams as he is roughly lifted and dumped in the black body bag that is unzipped and lying open beside him. As his drugged and abused body hits the hard floor, searing agony engulfs his body, ripping another scream from his throat. He tries to struggle against the restraints but his only reward is a tightening of the collar around his neck, which makes breathing difficult. Clamping his mouth shut, he hears 'Hand Man' reminding him of another unpleasant fact.

"You still have a hard on."

A hand closes around his penis and rubs, Dean closes his eyes, fighting the desire to whimper.

"I think now would be a good moment for lesson number two."

"Sorry," Dean manages to grind out. "I think I missed lesson number one."

"You!" 'Hand Man' points at the biggest man in the room. "Suck him!"

"Yes, sir." Obediently the big, deep voiced man approaches and kneels beside Dean.

"Going to fucking kill you!" Dean yells as the man's mouth closes around his throbbing penis, "Get off me!" He can't help the pleading tone in his voice, as he tries to buck away from the hot male mouth. "Bastard!" His voice breaks as his squirming drags his head further back. His breathing becomes increasingly strained both from its position and the sucking mouth that ignites flames of fire that radiate outwards.

"Lesson number two," gloats 'Hand Man'. "Unquestioning obedience!"

Tears of shame roll down Deans' face as the exquisite torture draws him tighter and tighter, ever closer to the ultimate humiliation of release in the mouth of a man.

"Enough!" The mouth is instantly removed, leaving Dean shaking. Obscene pictures fill his shamed imagination as the body bag is zipped closed around him, plunging him into darkness.

**TBC**


	8. Chapter 8

**SAM, SAMMY, SAMANTHA.**

_Disclaimer: Supernatural and the Winchesters belong to Eric Kripke. _

_**Warning: This story is rated M both for strong language and for content of an extremely mature nature.**__ Please consider yourself warned and don't read if you are of a sensitive nature._

_Firstly, please accept my apology for the delay in posting this chapter. I did a final check before uploading the chapter last week only to find I wanted to shuffle scenes around and that meant some more writing required. Then real life intruded in the form of a migraine and the imagination took a hike! Finally by yesterday it had made a reappearance and thanks to some mega fast beta-ing of this and the next chapter by Mars I'm able to give you Chapter Eight. Merisha I hope you are finally feeling better and that the treatment continues to work._

_Now I'd like to say thank you to everyone for sticking with me and a special thank you to those of you putting the story on alert. I'm honoured you are interested enough to want to read more. _

_So we're nearing the end of my tale, but will Caleb's vision become reality? Or will the rescue team be able to change the outcome?_

**CHAPTER EIGHT - SERVITUDE**

Just inside the entrance to the warehouse, Caleb, Bobby, Mackland, Ethan and Elijah quickly make their way deeper into the building, checking the area for threats. They pick a spot to set up an ambush for the men in the building and, at a silent signal from Ethan, the hunters melt silently into the shadows.

As Dean is roughly manhandled through the warehouse, his oiled body slips and slides around inside the body bag. The constant movement makes it impossible to keep his arms and legs from straining his neck. His spine kept curved backwards would be exhausting without the drugs coursing through his system, but with the drugs, his entire body screams for relief.

The friction of the bag's fabric turns his skin to a burning rawness and gravity plays its own part in his current version of hell. It shifts his weight until he is bouncing along on his stomach with his erection trapped beneath him. It's the only part of his body that finds any semblance of pleasure in the slippery journey.

Every breath becomes a fight to keep whimpers of pain trapped inside as he is bumped against sharp edges.

'Hand Man' chuckles the first time he hears Dean's failure to hold back. "That's it. Let me hear it," he taunts. "You'll scream, beg and bargain with me to stop the pain soon enough."

"No…fucking...way," Dean grinds out between clenched teeth. The only answer he gets is another chuckle and a sharp thump against his side from 'Hand Man's leg that sends another curse escaping his lips.

Curses are one thing, but screaming is quite another, and Dean will never, ever give 'Hand Man' that satisfaction again. He keeps his jaw clamped shut and focuses on everything he's ever been taught about sucking up pain. But no amount of training could ever have prepared him for the agony that shoots up from his knees and through every inch of his body when one corner of the bag is dropped and he crashes to the floor. He screams until he's hoarse and breathless.

'Hand Man' zeros in on the man who dropped his corner of the bag. "Did I give you permission to let go?"

The young man shakes his head, while his fear filled eyes stare down at the floor. "No

sir."

"Let me help you with the weight," 'Hand Man' offers.

Startled and unsure exactly what his boss means, the man is now terrified, but 'Hand Man' makes no move to punish his man further. Instead he bends down and, feeling through the top of the bag, close to where feet are outlined, he grips fabric and the underlying strap that links Dean's feet and arms to the collar about his neck.

He pulls and a short, agonised scream sounds from the bag but it rapidly fades off into ragged gasps.

'Hand Man' ignores Dean and focuses all his attention on his frightened young man. "You'd be as well to remember only I give pain."

Nodding frantically, the shaking man picks up his corner and the team continue on their way to the exit. 'Hand Man' holds his handful of bag and strap for a while as he walks immediately behind the young man who stumbles along as though the devil himself is following him.

Dean can barely breathe, let alone scream. Bile burns the back of his throat and he hovers on the edge of unconsciousness. His joints continue screaming their own loud objections to the punishment as the sickening bouncing and sliding resumes. He barely notices when the strap is released.

xXx

Close to the warehouse exit, hidden behind pillars and abandoned packing cases, the hunters listen to the screams. Caleb shakes in anger and Mac places a restraining hand on his arm whispering, "Patience. Regard it as proof that Dean's still alive."

Caleb glares at his father, "I'm going to fucking kill the lot of them."

"Patience, son, patience."

Caleb huffs but tries to relax.

xXx

Dean is lost in a world of pain unable to follow the voices around him. He's sure, in the past, much less pain has rendered him unconscious. This time, no matter how hard he tries, he can't slip over that invisible edge. All he can do is try not to sob with every ragged breath and hope that the soothing sound of Caleb's voice echoing in his head, _'Hold on, we're here,'_ is real and not just wishful thinking.

xXx

The hunters continue to watch as the group of men carrying the body bag come closer to their trap. As they draw level, Caleb silently signals across the warehouse to where he knows Ethan is hiding.

"Police, freeze!" Ethan's voice calls out a moment before he appears, gun trained on the group.

Caleb does the same. "Police, freeze!"

The men freeze. Those holding the bag look around at each other, uncertain of what to do. The two at the back edge slightly closer to their leader, allowing the bag to sag under its own weight.

Half hidden by his men, 'Hand Man' glares first at Ethan, then at Caleb and back again.

"Only two of you? That's pretty stupid."

"Not just two."

The voice comes from Elijah who has materialised behind the group with Bobby. They both aim shotguns at the men.

"Put the body bag down and step away from it," Ethan commands. "And keep your hands where we can see them."

No one moves. Caleb mentally scans the group, hoping that the close proximity will allow him to push past his friend's emotions, but all he picks up is Dean's overwhelming pain. He tries to offer psychic reassurance, '_Hold on. We're here.' _But he's not sure the message gets through. He's forced to pull back from the mental overload before he loses his focus on the here and now. He almost misses 'Hand Man' calling out, "Let's cut to the chase. Twenty thousand dollars says I walk out that door, complete with my baggage."

"I don't get out of bed for twenty thousand dollars," Mac retorts.

Caleb flicks a surprised glance at his father who has stepped into the light back in front of the exit and is holding his own gun on 'Hand Man'.

"I can see you have much more expensive tastes than your colleagues," 'Hand Man' sneers. He turns and looks at each of the hunters in turn. "Let's say fifty thousand and I'll provide each of you with a different date for every night of the week to suit your wildest desires."

Caleb takes a threatening step forward. "You sick sonofabitch!"

"I think what my young associate means is that we aren't available for purchase," Mac says, his voice much calmer than his son's. "So I strongly suggest you ask your men to place the bag on the floor and step away from it."

'Hand Man' ups his offer. "One hundred thousand dollars each."

Mac shakes his head.

'Hand Man' looks at the floor.

The hunters tense.

"Don't be stupid," Ethan calls out as he takes a step forward. "We will shoot."

"Drop the package, boys."

The bag hits the floor. Dean screams, a sound which stops far too soon.

xXx

In a small office tucked behind the area where the auction took place, 'Samantha' is placing stacks of $100 bills in a bag. She flicks through the final bundle and kisses it before dropping it in with the rest. Smiling she pulls out her cell phone and dials.

"Hey...Yeah, it went well...No, no hitches...We did really well. You did really well...Got way over my asking price...$50,000...Yeah, I mean it, $50,000!...Get the champagne out, Sis, we'll celebrate when I get back."

She looks up sharply, sure she's heard screams. She returns her attention to her sister. "I'll be about an hour...just want to clear everything away here...Bye." She disconnects and returns to packing all evidence of the night's activities away.

xXx

Wave after wave of agony rolls through Dean's body as he lays on the ground. He struggles to drag air back into his lungs, unable to now give voice to his misery. Suddenly every muscle contacts tight and begins to twitch uncontrollably and Dean is finally able to sink into the blessed peace of unconsciousness.

xXx

As Dean's body stops moving, everything happens at once. 'Hand Man' pulls one of his men in front of him and reaches out for the other. He triggers the taser which sends him sprawling forward with a cry. He lands in a twitching heap and 'Hand Man' shouts to the others. "Protect me!"

But of the two men behind him, only one obeys. The other runs off.

Shouting, Elijah takes up the chase, dodging between the packing cases and out of sight. Bobby stays focused on the scene in front of him but loses sight of 'Hand Man' who ducks down between his reluctant bodyguards. Bobby tries to sight his shotgun at him.

Ethan and Caleb head towards the body bag but stop short when they see 'Hand Man' press the taser against the body in the bag. They know that body is Dean; the future guardian of the Brotherhood, a man they're all sworn to protect.

"He can only survive so many hits," 'Hand Man' snarls. "You want me to kill him!'

"Fucking bastard!" Caleb snarls back.

Caleb's lost the link with Dean. Instead, he wonders if he can eliminate this threat psychically. But his original vision haunts him and Caleb won't take the risk of being the cause of his friend's death with reckless action.

Ethan tries to reason. "Put the taser down and no one else need get hurt."

"No," 'Hand Man' says. "I'm walking out of here with my boys. And you won't stop me. You're not police and I know this …" He prods Dean again with the taser while smirking at Caleb, "… is important to you."

Caleb curses himself for giving the enemy an emotional advantage.

"I'm more than happy to show scumbags like you my credentials," says Ethan, his voice pitched low and dangerous. "Up close and personal. You choose - here or down at the station house."

Everyone recognises the threat the words represent.

'Hand Man' looks undecided for a moment but his mask falls back into place. "No. You aren't killers, and killing us is the only way you'll stop us leaving."

A bark of laughter escapes Caleb at the absurdity of that statement but a glance at the people in front of him reminds him that this bastard is human, not their usual sort of monster to be killed without a second thought.

Still held in front of 'Hand Man', the young man is clearly terrified and his eyes hold a plea for help that tugs at Caleb's heart. The other man lying on the ground has recovered from the taser hit, but remains frozen in place, effectively hiding in plain sight. His eyes too are pleading for help.

Caleb guesses the third man's eyes contain the same plea. These men are not loyal by choice, but by fear, and that goes against everything he's ever learnt about right and wrong.

Mac takes over. "You're right. We're not killers. We're something much worse. Especially when one of our own is threatened." His voice is as cold and menacing as Caleb has ever heard him. "If you know what's good for you, you'll let Detective Matthews take you into custody. That's the only way you'll live to see another day."

He slowly approaches the group. "If, however, you insist on walking out of here, I promise you, you will be hunted down and destroyed. It won't matter where in the world you run to, I'll find you. I have very long arms, especially when I'm hunting."

The last words are spat at 'Hand Man' and Mac's gaze never leaves his opponent's eyes. It's 'Hand Man' who backs down first, nodding slowly and releasing his hold on his hostage. He pushes him away but not before he triggers the taser against Dean's inert body in a final act of defiance. But to do that he has to take his eyes off the hunters for a split second. That's all they need.

Both Caleb and Ethan leap forward. They knock the taser away and wrestle 'Hand Man' to the floor. Ethan quickly cuffs his hands behind his back, before using the butt of his gun to knock him out. When Caleb quirks an eyebrow at him, Ethan shrugs, "He resisted arrest."

Mac and Bobby have the other men on their knees, hands behind their heads, patiently waiting their turn to be arrested.

"Can I trust you to stay there?" Mac asks.

They nod enthusiastically. "We want to be arrested."

Caleb drops to his knees beside the body bag that remains terrifyingly silent. "I can't sense him any more." Mac is beside him as he starts to unzip the bag with trembling hands.

They gasp in shock as they get their first glimpse of Dean's pale face. His eyes are closed, lips tinged blue and head pulled back at an odd angle. Both Mac and Caleb move to lay fingers against the pulse point on his throat but both are defeated by the heavy collar that entirely covers Dean's neck.

"Deuce?" Caleb's voice trembles as he leans down, cheek close to Dean's mouth as he tries to feel if his friend is breathing. Mac has his hand on Dean's chest feeling for a heartbeat.

**TBC**


	9. Chapter 9

**SAM, SAMMY, SAMANTHA.**

_Disclaimer: Supernatural and the Winchesters belong to Eric Kripke. _

_**Warning: This story is rated M both for strong language and for content of an extremely mature nature. **__Please consider yourself warned and don't read if you are of a sensitive nature._

_For the penultimate time I'd like to thank my wonderful betas Mars and Merisha for all their encouragement and hard work. To everyone still reading, thank you for continuing to make time for my story and to everyone who has left me a review, an especially big thank you, every single one of them means the world me. _

**CHAPTER NINE – DEAD OR ALIVE?**

Deep in the back of the warehouse, Elijah tracks his man who isn't making any effort to be quiet or to hide. Several times Eli has had a clear shot, but something in the man's manner stops him. He has the feeling that this man wants him to follow - is leading him somewhere - and the feelings he's picking up on don't reek of deception. So Eli follows until they reach a corner, lit brighter than the surrounding area and swept clear of packing cases and debris.

The man suddenly turns to face Eli, hands raised in surrender not six feet away. "I want to make a deal."

Eli stops, partially hidden behind a pillar, and points his shotgun at the man's head. "What can you give me that I could possibly want?"

The man slowly points across the open space to a door and the small office beyond it. "The woman who sold your friend. She's in there."

Elijah may be more scholar than killer with limited lie detector psychic abilities but he is a trained hunter. It doesn't matter that he can only detect honesty in the man's statement, there's no way he's going to enter that room without back up.

"If you want a deal, bring her out to me."

The man looks nervous, but he turns his back and crosses to the door. He knocks and enters. "Miss."

Eli hears the momentary panic in the female voice that answers. "Who the… oh it's you… haven't you left yet?"

"Miss, the boss wants to speak to you out front."

"And he trusted you to come back here alone… I didn't think he ever trusted any one of his purchases that much."

"Erm… he tells me I'm a special case…"

"You enjoy your work?"

"Please come, Miss… or he'll punish me… and he's already in a foul mood… I don't…think…" The man is stuttering more and more his fear colouring his words. "Just come… please."

xXx

In the warehouse, Mackland and Caleb are kneeling on the floor beside the body bag containing Dean. Ethan and Bobby stand to one side keeping watch over their prisoners.

"He's alive!" Relief is clearly evident in Mac's voice. "Let's get him out of this lot." He unzips the bag to the bottom, and pulls it away from Dean. For the first time they see the full extent of the restraints.

"Holy shit!"

"Fucking bastard!" Caleb throws a murderous glance at 'Hand Man', still out cold on the floor. He's torn between killing him now and waking him up so that he can tear him limb from limb. Then he'll kill him.

"Caleb, help me." Mac draws his son's attention back to his injured friend. "Undo the restraints whilst I stabilise his neck." The gravity of Mac's concern hits Caleb in the gut.

"Do you think…?"

"I'm not thinking anything other than basic triage."

Moving carefully, Caleb releases the strap from the ankle cuffs, and gently straightens Dean's legs before releasing his arms and straightening them too. Finally, with a nod from his father, he unbuckles the collar, and eases it away so they can check for injury. Switching places with his father, Caleb holds Dean's head steady as Mac runs expert fingers down his spine.

"Mackland?" The question comes from Ethan who watches from his position, guarding their prisoners.

"Nothing appears broken."

Both men release the breath they barely realise they were holding. "I want to turn him onto his back." Working together they roll him, then Caleb steadies his friend's head and neck as Mac assesses the rest of him for injury. He shrugs out of his jacket to lay it across Dean's belly and groin, giving him a measure of privacy.

"Nothing appears broken or even bruised. Amazing really." Mac's voice is full of relief. "Heartbeat is fast but regular and he's breathing easier."

"But I still can't sense him!" There's a hint of panic in Caleb's voice as he mentally pushes harder at Dean, trying to rouse him. "Deuce? Come on, dude, open your eyes for me." Caleb pushes again with his mind.

"Dean, can you hear me?" Mac rubs his fist across Dean's sternum; the reaction is instantaneous and violent. Green eyes snap open, his back arches and a fist connects with Mac's face, knocking him away.

A wall of agony hits Caleb the instant still blackness turns to intense bright light. It rocks him back on his heels and he grips his head. "Shit… Deuce!"

As fast as his fist hits Mac, Dean twists and rolls away coming to a crouch a few feet away. "Get the fuck… argh, shit!"

Dean collapses, curling into a tight ball, his breath coming in rasping gasps as he tries to ride out the pain assaulting every inch of him.

xXx

In her office, 'Samantha' stares at the young man stammering in front of her. "Please come, Miss… or he'll punish me… and he's already in a foul mood… I don't…think…"

She remembers this frightened man from when he was 16 years old and being sick in a gutter. She'd picked him up and offered to take him home. Only she hadn't taken him home, she'd taken him to her owner.

That had been in the old days. The days when she'd been pimped out and shared round and used to make an evil man rich. If this boy now turned man is still here, perhaps the trust his boss has placed in him isn't so surprising.

"Do you know what he wants?"

He shakes his head "Something...to do with his new toy...I think."

"What?"

"He said something about damaged goods… and wanting his money back."

"No fucking way!"

She pulls out a handgun from a holdall full of clothes and tucks it into the waistband at the back of her trousers. "OK, let's go."

They exit the office and 'Samantha' looks carefully around. Seeing no-one, they walk across the cleared auction area towards a pillar that forms one end of the temporary wall of crates.

'Samantha' passes the wall and again looks around for anything unusual.

"Where is he?" she snaps and takes a few more steps into the maze that's her warehouse. She doesn't notice the man has melted into the shadows.

Suddenly she stumbles forward and crashes against the pillar. A hand between her shoulder blades forces her flat against the concrete and she struggles furiously.

"Get the hell off of me!"

She tries to fight back, to gain some space. "Let – me – go!"

But her assailant grips her neck tight with one hand and roughly frisks her with the other. He then pulls the gun out of her waistband. 'Samantha' struggles furiously. "Give that back. It's mine!"

"Not any more. You're under arrest.'

Her hands are quickly and efficiently cuffed behind her back.

"What! What's the charge!"

Her captor's hand curls around her arm and he begins to drag her towards the front of the warehouse.

'Hand Man's slave reappears. "Wait."

He runs back across the auction area to her office and re-appears moments later, his arms laden with the clothes and boots she'd stripped off Dean. "Thought your friend could do with these back."

Elijah nods his thanks and flanked by the slave he marches the woman back towards his brother.

xXx

Near the entrance to the warehouse, Caleb slams up every mental barrier he knows, trying to shield himself, as he crawls the short distance to Dean. He looks across at his father who is rubbing his cheek and sitting on his butt. "Dad, you OK?"

Mac nods and Caleb returns his attention to Dean. "Deuce?" He rests a hand on his friend's bare shoulder. "Look at me. It's me, Caleb."

His hand is shrugged off.

"Gerroff me."

"OK, I get it, no chick flick moment. But dude, giving Dad a shiner is no way to treat your own personal physician."

Blinking rapidly, Dean lifts his head, finally recognising the men closest to him as friends not foes.

"Damien. What took you so long?" His voice is hoarse and full of misery.

"Funny, Deuce, I can't track you when you're out cold. Had to wait on the old man's talents."

"Hey, less of the old man." Mac has picked himself up and is now crouching next to the boys. "Dean, how are you feeling?"

Green eyes meet golden, before flicking towards Mac's brown ones. "Hurts."

Both Mac and Caleb exchange a worried glance, if Dean is not answering "'m fine", then things are certainly bad.

"Son, I need you to tell me exactly what hurts."

"Everything." Before anyone can respond to that, Dean is suddenly pushing up, looking frantically around the room, before grasping Caleb's arm tightly, desperately. "Where's Sammy? Did you find him? Did the bitch sell him too?"

"Hey, hey, Deuce. Calm down. The runt's still at the farm where you left him, probably lazing in bed, making the most of Esme and Missouri fussing over him."

Panicked, pain-filled eyes rake over only slightly calmer ones, reading the truth there. Satisfied, Dean sighs, sinks back down onto the floor and curls back into a ball.

Elijah rejoins the group. He is pulling the woman along, her hands cuffed behind her back. The young man he chased walks placidly alongside them, a bundle of clothes and boots in his arms. "Look what I found, skulking out back. Two more for your arrest sheet, bro."

"Thanks," Ethan mutters dryly. 'More paperwork.'

'Samantha' protests her innocence. "You can't do this. I own this building. It's you that's breaking the law." Looking around at everyone she declares, "You're all trespassing. I demand you release me and get the hell out of my warehouse."

Bobby ignores her protests. "We could just take 'em somewhere quiet 'n' shoot 'em." he innocently suggests. Mac glares at him and Bobby raises his hands in mock surrender. "It's only a suggestion."

"Who is she?" Caleb asks.

"She's the bitch that sold me…to him." Dean interjects, pointing a shaky finger at 'Hand Man' who is now awake and watching the scene play out. His voice wavers. "Said her name was Sammy." His gut clenches at that memory, but no-one notices his distress. They're too focused on the first thing he said.

"Sold you!" Mac and Caleb exclaim together.

"Yeah. Fucking sold me like a slab of meat."

"Prize steak, Dean," the woman smiles. "Prize steak."

"More like rotten, stringy gristle." Everyone turns to stare at 'Hand Man'. The shocked silence is broken by a ragged "Whatever" from Dean who has curled in on himself again. Caleb squeezes his friends shoulder in concern and is rewarded once again by green, pain filled eyes locking onto his.

"Damien," whispers Dean. "Find out what the bastard gave me."

Nodding his understanding, Caleb moves to comply but his attention is drawn back to Dean when his wrist is grabbed in a vice like grip. "And Damien, don't be gentle."

The smile that crosses his face is pure evil. "My pleasure."

Caleb stands, malicious smile still firmly in place as he moves towards 'Hand Man'. He didn't have to move at all for what he has planned but he wants 'Hand Man' paying attention. It works. 'Hand Man' watches him carefully as he removes his gun from his waistband and places it on the floor. He rolls his neck and theatrically cracks his knuckles before taking another step forward.

"Caleb." Mac tries to calm his son, but is ignored and falls silent.

"I have nothing to say," says 'Hand Man'.

"Not a problem."

"Lay one finger on me, and I'll have you brought up on charges."

Caleb laughs but there is no mirth in the sound. "Still not a problem."

Caleb can search just about anyone's mind for information without them ever knowing he's been there, but that's not how he goes about this search. He enters 'Hand Man's mind like a sledge hammer, battering through the man's weak defences. He takes the information he requires without consideration for any damage he may be causing.

What he learns horrifies him. This man is as evil as any supernatural creature the Brotherhood has ever hunted, but not one shred of him is anything but human. He rifles through every memory of the sale of Dean. Nausea grows at the back of his throat as he feels the man's love of pain. How it excites him, how the illegal drugs he uses gives him control of grown men and women. The men and women who earn him vast sums of money, purely because they fear the agonies he can inflict with the drug. And when they've been pushed beyond usefulness, he kills them.

Caleb gazes around at their prisoners, finally understanding their relief at being arrested. His eyes settle again on Dean, who remains curled in a ball, riding out the pain the drug is inflicting. Now he has some idea of the cocktail of drugs flowing through his friend's veins. He knows that one drug is designed to keep the victim conscious throughout the agonies another drug inflicts.

Caleb pulls himself free of 'Hand Man's gutter of a brain, elation flooding his system now that he has an idea how to help his friend. "Eli, help Dean," he indicates his head. "Do your thing."

Eli pushes 'Samantha' into Bobby's hands and kneels beside Dean. "You remember how this works? You have to give me access."

Dean raises glassy, tortured eyes to Eli and nods. He visibly relaxes as Eli touches his fingers to his head and closes his eyes in concentration numbing the pain receptors in Dean's brain.

"Remember, psychic Novocaine. It only masks the pain, any injuries are still there."

Mere moments pass before Dean is pulling in a deep breath of relief.

"I like that trick better every time you use it," Dean's says with a voice that's noticeably steadier as Eli drops his hands to offer the Guardian Elect a hand up. "Now all I need are clothes and I'm good to go."

The almost forgotten man who Eli chased down, steps forward offering the pile of clothes. "Are these yours?" he asks hesitantly.

'Samatha' stares at 'Hand Man', "What did you do to him?" she asks fearfully, her eyes round and fixed on the man curled into a foetal ball on the floor. He is whimpering, tears mixing with the blood running freely from his nose.

"Let me give you a personal demonstration," Caleb's offers, his voice hard, his outrage barely contained.

"Caleb, no." Mac's voice is insistent as he steps forward. "You won't do that."

"She kidnapped Deuce. She deserves to be punished."

"And she will be. Ethan will arrest her and pursue a prosecution. We will give whatever help he needs to put her behind bars."

Dean pulls on the clothes offered and carefully buttons the jeans. "Tight fit," he winces, more than a little grateful for Elijah's psychic painkiller which makes the process bearable.

He steps up to 'Samantha' and whispers menacingly in her ear. "How long will it last?" His eyes flick downwards. "Tell me the truth or I'll ask Damien to rip your mind apart - just like his." He flicks his eyes across to 'Hand Man' and then back to look directly into her blue eyes. "And no one will stop him."

He sees the fear there, a moment of hesitation then, "No more than two hours, although I can't be sure how the drugs he gave you will affect things." Dean narrows his eyes at her and she rushes on. "Different drugs. Don't know how they mix."

He looks across at Caleb who is watching the exchange. Caleb nods once and Dean knows his friend has already read the same answer in the woman's thoughts. He turns back to her and asks, "What's your real name?"

She swallows. "Sammy."

"Try again, bitch."

She smiles hopefully. "Sam, Sammy, Samantha."

A muscle twitches in Dean's jaw as he stares deep into her eyes.

"She's telling the truth, Deuce." Caleb grins at the shocked look on Samantha's face.

Dean grins back at his friend. "Seriously, no shit?"

"No shit, dude. Her name is Samantha Phillips, sister to Cassandra Phillips of Cassie's Coffee Shop fame."

He shakes his head and turns to Ethan. "Do your stuff and let's get out of here."

"I'll struggle to get convictions on all these, unless you testify in court."

Everyone turns to Ethan, all speaking at once.

"No!"

"You know he can't do that."

"Not going to happen."

"Take 'em somewhere quiet 'n' salt 'n' burn 'em instead."

A beat of silence, then a quiet, deep voice is heard. "Perhaps we can help with that." It's the big man who was so obedient to 'Hand Man's instructions. Another man is holding up two drug vials as his bargaining card and a third has a handful of syringes.

Dean stares at the vials and syringes then he turns and looks at 'Hand Man', his eyes narrowed in thought. Caleb watches him closely. The moment Dean's expression hardens and he takes a step toward the drug vials, Caleb moves forward and intercepts his friend. "You're a better man than that." Caleb's hand against Dean's chest gently stops his friend.

Dean glares at Caleb. "Stop reading me, man."

Caleb ignores the reprimand. "Yes, he's an evil sonofabitch. But you do that and he'll walk free. He'll be a victim." He waves his hand in the direction of 'Hand Man's men. "Just as much as they are." Golden eyes hold tempted green captive. "Leave it Deuce. Let's just go home."

Dean sighs and gives a single nod. "Yessir"

He takes a deep breath to steady his body and walks slowly away.

"Hey, Dean," says Bobby, pointing. "Way out's over there."

Without stopping, Dean circles and heads the other way.

**TBC.**

_Just one more chapter to come – a little TLC Winchester style._


	10. Chapter 10

_Disclaimer: Supernatural and the Winchesters belong to Eric Kripke._

_So here it is, the final chapter and for the last time I'd like to thank my betas Mars and Merisha for everything they'd done to keep this story on track. I'd also like to thank everyone for taking the time to read, review or even for just putting the story on alert, your actions means the world to me. _

**SAM, SAMMY, SAMANTHA. **

**CHAPTER NINE – THERE'S NO PLACE LIKE HOME**

More than a day has passed since the rescue when Dean, Caleb and Elijah pull up at the farm. Dean takes a deep breath and braces himself for Sam's interrogation. It's bound to involve all the questions he's been avoiding since his rescue.

The phone calls from the road seemed to placate his brother and Eli's physic mojo helped keep his continuing discomfort hidden, but now he's not so sure that was a bright idea. In person, Sam's will no doubt see through his act instantly and the fall out's not going to be pretty.

He gets out the car, stretches carefully and rolls his neck. He looks at the house. Yep, Sam is going to be pissed and Dean isn't sure he feels up to dealing with that yet.

"Best to get it over with, Deuce," Caleb encourages as he comes up beside Dean.

"I suppose, but he's going to be so pissed."

"Yep."

"He'll think he's to blame."

"Yep."

"You're not helping."

"Nope."

Dean gives Damien a disgusted look, turns and makes his way to the house. Every muscle aching and protesting, he climbs the porch steps and pushes through the door into the kitchen, Caleb and Elijah follow protectively behind.

Sam is sitting at the table, laptop open. Missouri and Esme are both there, fussing over the stove, talking quietly. Sam looks up at Dean. His gaze travels to take in all the newcomers before returning to settle on his brother's face. His expression hardens into a scowl, "What happened?"

"No 'hello Dean'?" Dean grins hopefully. "No 'welcome home'?"

"Quit it, Dean. Something went wrong and I want to know what."

"Everything's fine with me, what about you? You seem b…"

Sam cuts him off. "Tell. Me. What. Happened!" He waves a hand in the direction of Caleb and Elijah, "They wouldn't be with you if everything had gone to plan." Sam stands and leans against the table. "And you're late."

"Sammy, I explained that on the phone."

"You gave me a load of bull on the phone." Sam shouts, his eyes blazing. "What happened? What are you hiding?"

Suddenly Dean is weary. Weary of arguing and weary in body and spirit. He sways on his feet and grabs the back of a chair to steady himself. Sam's eyes widen in horror. "Are those bruises on your wrists? God, Dean, you're hurt?"

Dean shakes his head, putting up a placating hand. "I'm just tired, Sammy. I want coffee and a shower and I don't want to argue with you." His glances momentarily towards the two women in the room then back to Sam, pleading for understanding. "And I want to relax in pleasanter company than the trip offered."

Dean's face splits into a grin, which is slowly matched by the smile that lights up Sam's face. "I bet I can beat you on the pleasant company front, you should try being stuck here with…"

Missouri waves a wooden spoon at him. "Samuel, be nice."

Sam's cheeks colour. "Yes, ma'am."

Esme hands out hot coffee and cookies to the new arrivals. The switch from angry words to banter and smiles is welcomed by everyone. Dean eases into the chair beside Sam, his shoulder just brushing his siblings. Each takes comfort from the other's presence.

xXx

Much later that night, as they lie in bed in their shared room, Dean haltingly fills Sam in on what happened. He glosses over some of the details and is grateful that Sam doesn't press.

"So they were all human. Not possessed? None of them?"

"No. Damien checked, but they were all one hundred percent human bastards."

"And the goons all wanted to be arrested?" Disbelief colours Sam's words.

"Yeah. Guess they thought prison was better than the life they'd got."

"God, that's sad."

"True, but it worked to our advantage. Ethan offered them the chance of a deal, to testify against 'Mr and Mrs Bastard' in exchange for a new life. They jumped at it. Let's hope it's enough to put them behind bars for life."

"And if it's not?"

"Bobby offered to take them some place quiet and salt and burn 'em."

Sam snorts. "Like Mac would allow that?"

"Not sure Damien or Bobby would give him much choice."

"Wonder if they want help?"

Dean chuckles softly. He feels safe in the presence of his brother and despite the lingering discomfort in his shoulders and wrists and the weight of the sheets on his still tender skin, sleep tugs at him. Hopefully by tomorrow the rest of the drug will be out of his system, and, with Sam much recovered, life can get back to normal.

"Go to sleep, Princess."

"Jerk."

"Bitch."

**THE END**_**.**_


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